What Mine Eyes Can See
by Memento Mori
Summary: Snape pays dearly for his position as traitor in the Death Eater ranks and loses his eyesight completely. Help and support comes from a most unexpected source. But is their bond strong enough to withstand the horrors to come? SS/HP *slash*
1. The Crime

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Disclaimer: Every time I have to say it, I get depressed. I don't own these characters, I'm just mucking about in JKR's genius pool. Forgive me.

Summary: Snape pays dearly for his position as traitor in the Death Eater ranks. As a result, he loses his eyesight completely. Help and support come from a most unexpected source as Harry must lift Snape from the depths of despair to which he has sunk. Yet can both of them together make it- and each other- through the horrors that have only just begun?

Pairing: SS/HP

Rating: Subject to change. But probably won't go beyond R.

What Mine Eyes Can See

-MM-

~*~

_Pain_.

It was the first thing he was aware of when he was shocked back into consciousness. Pain, and a terrible, terrible light. He struggled to make sense of it all, sense of anything, where he was, what he was doing there, and the source of the pain that made it so hard to think.

"Severus..."

There was a voice he knew all too well. He flinched involuntarily as cold fingers brushed up against his face. A memory sprung unbidden into his mind, a memory of those same cold fingers closing around his throat, pressing him against the wall. Of a hand cracking sharply across his jawbone. Of a bright flash of light, then the blessed darkness that had swept him away into sweet oblivion.

He clung desperately to the last thought as he struggled against the light that held him still. Again the hand traced the lines of his face, resting against his lips, jaw and eyes.

"Why, Severus? Why did you do it?" The voice was wistful, almost sad. "You could have been great here with us. You could have been one of the greatest wizards in the world, you would have had it all. Power, fame, riches. Why did you leave?"

"Because." His voice, at least, still worked though it was harsh and rasping in its dryness. "Because, Lucius, I found out who I am. And who I wasn't. I could never be one of you, because I had something you never would. Call me Slytherin, call me traitor, call me what you will. I could never what you described because I still have a soul." At least, he thought he did. Maybe he was lying again. Maybe it didn't matter.

The hand stiffened. "Don't talk to me about a soul, Severus." Lucius' voice was hard. "You, who came back with honeyed promises and excuses, you who came back a sincere liar, you who killed dozens of those who once had called you brother, you who turned your back on your true calling in exchange for your pathetic life- _you_ would look to talk to _me_ of a soul?" Lucius laughed, and the sound sent chills down to Snape's very bones.

"I may have turned away from you," he interrupted Lucius, his voice harsh and grating. "But not for me. Never for myself. Because I would rather have died, Lucius, than have come back here as one of you. May I be cast into hell for all the times I called you brother. The only reason I chose to come back was so I could take as many of you out with me. I am not one of you."

"Oh, but you were, Severus. You once were. You were greater than many, you outstripped nearly us all even at your young age. You had enemies, Severus, more than you could ever imagine, but they feared you. Twenty one years old, and they feared you. You had potential if you had but chosen to wield it. You could have been greater than us all, than even Voldemort, if you had wanted to be. You just didn't know it."

"You're wrong." He felt an eerie calm fall over him as he spoke. "I was never a threat to Voldemort's power, because I lacked the crucial requirements. I had compassion, Lucius. Do you still know what that means anymore? I had honor, mercy. Things you will never understand, things that kept me from ever becoming more than I was when I was a Death Eater. Things that kept me human while the rest of you degraded into the monsters you are now."

He cried out as a fist connected sharply with his right jaw. Lucius' voice had changed. It no longer carried that wistful sigh of regret. It was as hollow and empty as the words he next spoke.

"You always had such a clear insight on things," he said as Snape shook his head clear of the pain. "You had this ability to see straight into the heart of the matter. It was a wonderful skill of yours, Severus, and one of your most irritating. I wonder how well you would fare without it, and without that sharp tongue of yours to do it justice." He sensed rather than saw the smile that crossed Lucius' features.

"_Our_ Lord," he said, placing special emphasis on the first word, "has given me permission to deal with you as I will." The tapping of a wand came from his left. "I believe I have found a punishment most fitting. Let us call it poetic justice for a spy who has seen too much."

A dull roar filled the small room. He could hear it echoing through his ears as he lay on the cold stone, too weak to protest, too tired to fight. He was through with fighting other people's wars anyway. Maybe Lucius' spell would end it all for him. Somehow, though, he didn't think so. Death would be too merciful for a spy, especially a spy caught by the Death Eaters.

He was so wrapped up in his own hazy thoughts that he almost missed it. The roaring grew louder until it rushed past his ears like the winds of hell. The bright light that surrounded his vision grew brighter until he cried out in pain, but still it grew. Somewhere over the rushing winds he heard Lucius chanting steadily, his voice growing louder with each word. Suddenly, the roaring stopped and all was silence, until Lucius whispered two final words.

"_Caecus nocium_."

Then all was silence and light.

Minerva McGonagall couldn't sleep. That wasn't odd, really, if one considered all that had been going on recently. First that strange letter from the Ministry that had Dumbledore all worried, then the agitation that had infected most of the students, especially the First Years. Add to all of that the fact that Snape had been sent to the Death Eaters days ago and there had been no word since, and you had the perfect recipe for insomnia.

After her fifth attempts at reading Third Year papers on the dangers of self-transfiguration, McGonagall gave up and pushed her chair back. She was getting nowhere just sitting in her office, so she decided to talk a walk by the lake, though it was well past midnight. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders and set off, hoping to clear her head with the cool night air.

As soon as she set foot outside, she began to feel better. The lake was still in the calm night, the moon shone off the surface as clearly as it would a mirror. The worries that had been plaguing her for the better part of a week seemed to lessen and disappear, slipping from her shoulders as easily as a cloak. It felt so good to be outside after being stuck inside the castle chasing runaway button beetles all over the classroom. McGonagall closed her eyes as she took a deep breath of fresh air.

"Oops! Sorry, Professor!"

McGonagall opened her eyes in surprise and looked down at the student who was picking himself up off the ground. "Mr. Potter. What are you doing out here at this time of night?"

Harry Potter shook his head, his black hair falling into his eyes. "I was awake," he explained. "Actually, my scar woke me up and I couldn't get back to sleep. I thought I'd come down here and see if a walk would tired me out enough so I wouldn't be nodding off in Professor Binn's class. I didn't think I'd find you out here."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "You said your scar was hurting?"

"Um, yeah. I guess I must have had a nightmare or something." He shrugged, rubbing absently at the lightning bolt that marred his forehead. "I don't remember anything, but then again, I usually don't."

McGonagall was about to speak again, but they were both interrupted as a voice filled the empty night with a ringing intensity, the sound filling everything that heard it with terrible dread.

"_Morsmordre!_"

She spun in the direction of the voice, heard Potter gasp behind her. The sound had come from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, and she scanned the night sky for what she knew she would find.

And there it was. Floating high above the treetops, an immense, grinning skull rose, blocking the stars from view. The familiar snake crawled out from its mouth, face twisted into the rictus of a snarl. Sparks of green flew and settled from the grotesque picture. McGonagall felt her stomach twist with fear.

"Not here," she whispered, staring at the mark of evil that filled the sky. "Not here, oh God, not now. Harry!" She grabbed the boy by his arm, breaking his trance as he stared fixated on the grinning skull. "Stay here. Don't go _anywhere_, do you understand me? I've got to find out where it's coming from. _Don't move_."

She set out at a dead run towards the Forbidden Forest. She could only pray that no one else was awake to see the dread Mark. _Please, please not again_._ Not here, and not of all times now_. Best just hope...

Suddenly she was aware of Potter running beside her. Anger clipped her words as she continued to run without slowing.

"I told you to stay back there," she shouted at him. "I can't risk taking you with me. Merlin only knows what caused that thing, and you aren't safe here!"

"This is the safest place I could be," he shouted back, matching her stride for stride. "Whoever made that Mark could be anywhere, I'm not safe back there, either! At least this way I'm with you if something goes wrong. We don't know who's out there, or where! I was no safer back there by myself than I would be anywhere else!"

McGonagall didn't reply, saving all her breath for the mad dash to the trees. Her heart froze with the dread certainty that when they arrived, what they would find waiting for them would bring more horror than they could imagine. That's the way it always was with the Dark Mark. There was only one thing awaiting you if the skull leered down on you. Death, destruction and pain.

She skidded to a stop when they arrived at the line of trees that marked the Forest's beginning. She looked wildly about, trying to locate the source of the Mark or a clue to the havoc it left behind.

"P-professor!"

Potter's voice was shrill and unsteady as he pointed. McGonagall's gaze followed the trail of his shaking finger. "Merlin help us," she whispered.

Slumped against a lone oak tree was a figure dressed in black robes. As they drew closer, McGonagall saw it was a man, battered, beaten and tightly bound. A pair of blank, unseeing eyes stared out from a gaunt face mottled with bruises. Blood trickled from the man's half open mouth, dripping onto the forest floor with a chillingly steady rhythm. McGonagall brushed the man's hair out of his face and felt her breath catch in her throat. She whispered a severing charm, and the ropes fell from the man's wrists.

"Mr. Potter," she said without looking up. "Go find Dumbledore. Tell him to come immediately to the Forest." She could have used a messenger spell, but she wanted Potter well away from the scene and safely inside the castle. "Tell him it's urgent." She cradled the man in her arms, though he whimpered fitfully at her touch.

"Tell him Severus has returned."


	2. The Meeting

"_Professor!_"

Harry burst into Dumbledore's office, having received the password from Professor Flitwick. The little man had gone wide-eyed as Harry gasped out the situation and given him the password immediately, then rushed off in the direction of the Forbidden Forest with a speed suited to his small stature.

"Harry." Dumbledore looked up with a small smile, a smile that quickly faded as he took in the agitation on Harry's face. "What is it?"

"Pro-professor McGonagall sent me to tell you- Professor Snape- at the Forest- he's hurt- something's wrong- told me to come get you." He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his head swimming as he sucked in air. He doubled over as a fit of coughing over took him, and by the time he looked up with watering eyes, Dumbledore had already gathered his cloak about him and was headed for the door.

"Come with me," Dumbledore said as he strode quickly out the door and down the stairs. "We don't have time to waste."

"But-" Harry trotted obediently after as he protested. "Professor McGonagall told me to stay here, in the castle where it's safe."

"McGonagall may be your head of House, Harry, but I am in a position to overrule her if I see fit." Dumbledore glanced quickly back. "There's no time for questions. Please come with me."

"Yessir." Harry, already out of breath from his previous run up to the castle now strained every muscle in his boy as he tried to keep up. For all his age Dumbledore could certainly move when he wanted to!

"Where?" Dumbledore asked once they were outside. Harry pointed mutely to the section of Forest where they had found Snape. The Headmaster frowned as he saw the Dark Mark in the sky above the trees. It still jeered down at the castle, its green features casting an eerie light over the field and lake. Harry suppressed a shudder as it returned his gaze.

"Show me."

Harry led the old Headmaster down the path he had been just minutes before. In a matter of moments, they caught sight of McGonagall and Flitwick and both of them broke into a run.

"Albus!" McGonagall cried in relief. "Albus, thank God!" Dumbledore hurried to kneel down beside her. Harry stood back, uncertain.

"He's not responding," McGonagall told him as he checked Snape's pulse. "I don't know how stable he is, I can't even tell if he's aware of what's going on. He won't talk to me and the only reason I know he's awake is because he'll start crying out if you get too close."

As if to prove her point, Snape began to whimper as Dumbledore ran his fingers over his throat, checking the rhythm of his heart. The Headmaster looked down sadly at his young Potions Master.

"Bring him inside," he instructed her. "We'll see what Poppy can do. Filius?"

"Yes, Albus?" the little man piped up from his place beside Harry. "I know. I'll take care of it right away."

Dumbledore smiled wearily. "Thank you, Filius. Harry, will you please accompany him to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yessir," Harry said immediately. He followed Flitwick away from the tree line and back to the castle. He looked back once and was surprised to see McGonagall's eyes bright with unshed tears. The sight made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't describe and he looked quickly away.

"What are we doing?" he gasped at Flitwick. The little man kept up his breakneck pace as he replied.

"Poppy needs to be woken," he said as they ran. "Then the Hospital Wing has to be...prepared."

"Prepared?" Harry was confused. What could he possibly mean by that? Was there some sort of medicine they had to mix? But how would they do that if they didn't even know what was wrong with Snape?

But it was none of those things.

"I'm going to put sound proofing charms around the whole Wing," Filius said, his squeaky voice grim. "This isn't the first time Severus has come back in a bad state. And if his injuries don't wake him up screaming in the middle of the night, the nightmares will."

"Oh." Again Harry felt that peculiar twist in his stomach. "How-" he swallowed heavily. "How often has this happened?"

"Often enough." The two said no more as they raced against time to reach the dark, silent castle.

It took only a moment to wake Madam Pomfrey. Flitwick sent her word through a messenger spell and almost immediately she was there, still dressed in her night robes and cap. She took one look at Flitwick and Harry and her mouth thinned.

"Severus is back, then?" she asked. Harry knew she didn't expect an answer, but Flitwick gave her one anyway.

"It's bad," the Charms Professor confirmed. "There's something wrong with him this time. I've never seen him quite like this. Dumbledore wants the setup like always, but something tells me we're going to need more than that tonight." Harry saw him glance quickly his way. "I have a feeling we're going to need everything we've got."

The two of them went off, presumably to ready the Hospital Wing for Snape's arrival. Harry stayed behind in the waiting room, sitting on the edge of one of the chairs. A lot of things made sense now that hadn't before. The odd silences during class time, the occasional substitute for days at a time. Given, it hadn't happened often, and Harry had a hunch that it was only recently that Snape had resumed his duties in earnest. What Dumbledore had said to him when Voldemort's revival first became known only confirmed it.

Harry clenched his fists to stop his hands from trembling, though whether it was from cold or something else he did not know. _Severus, you know what I must ask you to do_...

Flitwick had said that Snape had never come back in such a shape. Try as he might, Harry couldn't shake the vision of Snape lying there against the tree, his eyes blank and unseeing, without the spark of light that usually burned in the black pupils. It disturbed him more than he cared to admit to see his sharp, caustic Professor reduced to such a stupor. He shuddered to think of what the man must have gone through, where every one of those mottled, purple bruises had come from.

But why now? It was obvious that Snape couldn't have gone through the same thing each and every time he visited with the Death Eaters. No man could have survived such treatment as many times as that would have been. And besides, someone would have noticed if it happened too often. Rumours flew faster than arrows at Hogwarts.

Suddenly, Harry was reminded of his second meeting with Voldemort, the only one he could remember. After the third task had gone terribly, terribly wrong he was bound to the headstone, laid out to take part in a ritual he would have given his very life to have avoided. He still woke in a cold sweat, even a year later as dreams of a cold finger traced his cheek, or Wormtail's hot breath stung his face. He still heard the Wormtail's screams at night, still saw Cedric's lifeless body splayed limply on the ground.

But now he remembered something else, something that hadn't seemed as important at the time. Voldemort had known!

He stiffened in his chair as the realization hit him. Once Voldemort had gathered his choice few around him at his reawakening, his serpent eyes had not missed the gaps in the circle, nor had the implications gone unnoticed. Harry remembered him saying something about one who had turned his back on the Death Eaters forever, and how he would be found and punished. In his daze of pain and shock at Cedric's death, the words had no meaning for him then. Not even when he returned to Hogwarts had the implications sunk in. If they had, if he had but realized what Voldemort had meant-

_He had been talking about Snape!_ Harry thought to himself and nearly cried out in startlment at the realization. _Snape had turned traitor on them, and he knew!_ Now, not knowing that he had been found out, Snape had returned at Dumbledore's request, ignorant of the fate that awaited him.

Merlin! Harry swore to himself with all the experience that being around Sirius had given him. If he had but known! Surely Dumbledore would not have sent Snape back into that if he had known what awaited him. Surely this whole disaster could have been avoided if he had but known!

He was on the verge of jumping from his seat and running to find Dumbledore that very moment when the doors to the Hospital Wing flew open, making such a venture unnecessary as Dumbledore and McGonagall burst in, supporting Snape between them.

"In here." Madam Pomfrey appeared at the entrance to the infirmary and motioned for them to come in. "Bring him in here. Filius is putting the last of the charms up and I've got everything ready." Harry saw her eyes widen as she took in Snape's battered form, but other than her face turning a little paler, she didn't react. "What happened?"

Professor McGonagall related the tale rapidly, her eyes fixed on Snape's unseeing face. Pomfrey proceeded to settle the Potions Master in one of the several beds as she listened.

Harry, meanwhile, hung back uncertainly. He was torn between wanting to get someone's attention and not wanting to interfere with Pomfrey's ministrations. "Professor-?"

"Harry." Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I think it's best if you went back to your dorm now."

"Yessir. I mean, nossir. I-" Harry stopped, his face turning as red as Ron's hair. "What I mean is-"

"Yes?" Dumbledore watched Harry over the top of his silver spectacles.

"Voldemort knew about Snape!" he finally blurted. "After Wormtail brought him back and he called his Death Eaters to him, he noticed Snape wasn't there and said something about a traitor and that they were going to find him and-"

"Slow down, my boy." Dumbledore took Harry firmly by the shoulder and led him over to a chair. "Take things slowly. One sentence at a time. Now, tell me what happened."

Harry took a deep breath. "After the third task, remember I told you how Voldemort called his Death Eaters to him?"

"I do."

"He went through them and noticed the ones that were missing. He said something about one of them turning his back on him and that when he was caught, he would be dealt with." Harry clenched his trembling hands into fists. "I think he meant Snape," he finished miserably.

For a long time, Dumbledore said nothing. Harry sat and waited for the chastising he knew would surely follow. If only he had been a little smarter, a little quicker. If only he had come to the realization sooner, none of this might have happened.

"This is....enlightening," Dumbledore said at length. "It would certainly explain why Severus was returned to us in such a...state." Harry watched as the Headmaster sighed and removed his glasses. "I knew it was only a matter of time before Severus was found out," he said. "Severus knew it too. It was only a question of when, and to what end." He polished his spectacles carefully on the hem of his robes.

"It's all my fault," Harry said miserably. "If I had paid a little more attention to what Voldemort said-"

"You had your mind on other things at that time, if I'm not mistaken," Dumbledore said firmly. "Namely your own life. I would not expect for you to have taken the time to work out all the small details of your tribulation, nor would I have expected it from anyone else in your place." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I fear we have come to see more of the scar you wear than the person you are. Perhaps it is time we ceased looking at you as the Boy-Who-Lived and saw you instead as Harry Potter, Hogwarts' student. We have made ourselves believe that with your presence, we no longer need to watch out for ourselves. We have made you a cure-all, something you cannot be."

"Albus!"

Dumbledore started and rose as McGonagall's voice cut through the waiting room. "Go back to bed, Harry," he said, placing one hand on Harry's shoulder. "You are no more responsible for what happened to Severus than I am, less, in fact. It is not your duty to protect. Not yet, and hopefully, not ever."

"Yessir."

"And Harry?" Dumbledore's eyes were grave as he leveled a look at his student. "Just because people want you to be something doesn't mean you have to live up to their expectations. I will see you tomorrow at breakfast."

Harry nodded reluctantly and watched as Dumbledore headed off in the direction of the Hospital proper. He didn't believe a word Dumbledore said, though. In his mind, he was still at fault for what had happened to Snape. Yet what _had_ happened? Other than the cuts and bruises, it was hard for him to tell the extent of the Potion Master's injuries. As he walked up the steps to the Gryffindor Tower he shuddered, certain he could hear Snape's screams through the silencing charms.

"Mrph? Harry?" Ron's voice traced its way through the silent dorm.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep. Transfiguration test tomorrow." Harry held his breath until Ron lapsed back into slumber and lay for a time, listening to his friend's easy breathing.

How many times had he thought the exact same things as Dumbledore had told him tonight? There were times he didn't _want_ to be the Boy-Who-Lived. He hadn't asked for it, and Merlin knew that if he could give up the title he would, with less than a moment's notice.

_But would he really?_

In spite of himself, Harry found himself wondering. Yes, he wanted to live a normal life, just another Hogwarts' student. Yes, he wanted to get rid of the damn scar on his head, so that people would see him as a person, not a savior. He wanted to laugh, to eat, to groan about homework and tests, to play Quidditch. But at what cost? If he got what he wanted, if he became all those things and none of what he was, where did that leave everyone else? Other people needed him, not as a person, but as a concept. Who cared if he wasn't strong enough to take on a single Death Eater by himself now, it was what he _represented_ that mattered. People needed to be able to whisper to each other that the Boy-Who-Lived would one day bring down the Dark Lord. They needed to believe.

But what about him? What about what _he _needed?

Exhausted though he was, it was a long time before Harry Potter was able to sleep, and when he did, it was far from restful.

"Neville, would you kindly go and fetch your mouse? It seems to have taken up residence by the door, the one and only sign that your spell may have succeeded."

To any other student, Professor McGonagall would have come across as completely normal, no different than any other day, though she might appear a bit more snappish than usual. Harry, however, saw the tell-tale bags under her eyes, the lines of red that traced beyond her irises. The edge in her voice was not totally due to Neville's failed spell, nor were her hands shaking as a result of too many papers to grade the previous night.

Harry shuddered as he tried to push the memories of last night into some far corner of his mind and set to work on his dormouse.

"_Mutanis_," he muttered, pointing his wand at the tiny rodent. The mouse sat back to look at him, then proceeded to was its little face with its paws, still as mouse-like as could be. Beside him, he heard Ron struggling with his own animal.

"_Mutanis_, damn you, _change!_" Cursing, apparently, magical or otherwise, seemed to have no effect on the immutable rodents. Students everywhere were cursing, shrieking and screaming as the little mice scampered across the tables, round, furry and with four legs as always. Somewhere on the other side of the classroom, Parvati Patil had dropped her mouse on the floor and was now standing atop the desk, screeching and pointing.

Hermione rolled her eyes and aimed her wand at the mouse sitting before her. "_Mutanis mus_," she intoned. The rodent squeaked in surprise, then began to flatten out until it was the length and width of a placemat. Ears, eyes, nose and tail disappeared as the poor dormouse became a very serviceable doormat. "_Remutanis_," she said and the process reversed itself, leaving her with a very put out dormouse.

"I wish I knew how you did that," Ron muttered darkly from his place beside Harry. He now had something vaguely resembling a crawling sheet of rolled dough. He made a face and tried to change it back, but the obstinate thing just kept crawling until it was at the edge of the table. "Hermione, quick! Help!"

"Oh for Merlin's sake." With a quick flick of her wand, the mouse was back to its usual form. It sat blinking for a moment, then cast an icy look at Ron before scurrying behind a textbook to sulk.

"What's up, Harry, you've been quiet lately."

"Eh? Oh, nothing." Harry flashed a quick grin in Ron's direction before turning his attention back to his own mouse. "How 'bout this," he whispered, leaning down close to the rodent's ear. "You go along with me and become a doormat for a few minutes, just long enough for Professor McGonagall to see, and I don't feed you to Crookshanks. _Mutanis mus!_"

To his very real surprise, the dormouse squeaked and flattened almost immediately. A heartbeat later a doormat lay where his mouse used to be. "I guess that worked..."

"Well done, Mr. Potter."

The sound of McGonagall's voice was startlingly close to Harry's ear. He wondered for a moment how she could have come up behind him so quietly, then reminded himself that this was a woman who spent much of her time as a tabby cat.

"Err, thanks, Professor." He held his breath and thought up a quick prayer, then pointed his wand again. "_Remutanis mus!_"

"Hmm...perhaps a little work is in order," McGonagall said as the doormat lay flat and unresponsive on the desk. "_Remutanis_." The mat immediately sprung up to its old, furry self. "Good work, Miss Granger. Miss Patil, would you please come down off that desk? I believe I would rather lose you to rabid mouse bites than to a broken neck. Thank you. Neville, will you please go get your mouse? Now?"

"Erm, Professor?"

"Not now, Harry." McGonagall was off in a flurry of mixed scolding and praise, leaving Harry standing in her wake, a confused white mouse sitting on his shoulder.

"But, Professor-"

"Not _now_, Harry." McGonagall turned and fixed Harry with an icy stare. "If you wish to talk to me, see me in private in my office. Not now."

"Yes, ma'am." Harry looked down, abashed. He knew now was not the time to bring up such matters, but the curiosity was eating him alive, overcoming his better sense. It was obvious none of the others knew anything about the events occurring last night or he would have heard at least a dozen wild rumours on his way to breakfast that morning.

"Eh, what's up with _her_ this morning?" Ron asked as he poked his mouse with his wand, much to Parvati's dismay. "Oh, come off it, it's just a mouse. Not like poking it's any crueler than turning it into a doormat!" Having won that side of the argument, Ron resumed his conversation with Harry. "I've seen her cross before, but she seems- I dunno."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Harry had only half an ear on what Ron was saying. The rest of him was staring off into space, thinking about the previous night. The bright, glowing green of the hideous skull, the chilling voice that had uttered the dread word and Snape-

"So what were you out so late for last night, anyway?"

Harry shook himself out of his reverie. "Nothing," he lied quickly. "Couldn't sleep, is all. Went for a walk around the lake."

"Yeah? Lavender said she thought she saw you coming from the Hospital Wing."

Harry felt his heart stop. "S'that right?" he asked, feigning indifference. "Could be. Had a bit of a headache last night, went to see if I could find Pomfrey."

"You said you had a headache?" Hermione had finished with her mouse and now joined the two of them in conversation. "It's not your scar again, is it? Were you having dreams again, last night?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he said, the lie sliding easily off his tongue. "Just a headache. I think it might have been from breathing all that incense in Trelawney's room."

Ron laughed. "I'm surprised we don't all choke to death in there," he agreed. "Hey, we're gonna be late for Potions if we don't hurry."

_Potions_. Harry froze, running the possibilities through his mind. Snape was there, looking as he always did. Snape was there, but as bruised and beaten as he had appeared last night. Worse yet- Snape was not there at all.

"You two go ahead," he said, pretending to search for something on the ground beneath the desk. "I'll catch up with you later."

"Nah, we'll wait for you."

"Really, I'm going to be a while. Save a seat for me in Potions."

"You sure, Harry? We'll wait if you want."

"Thanks, Ron. Just go on ahead. I'll catch up."

As soon as Ron and Hermione had left, Harry straightened and looked around. The room was deserted except for Professor McGonagall who was still stuffing mice back into their cages.

He went up to her hesitantly. "Professor?"

"Go to class, Harry." Was it his imagination or did her voice have the slightest tremor to it? "You're going to be late." When he didn't move, she turned and faced him. "Harry, I know you have questions, and I know you're confused about what happened last night."

"Confused doesn't even begin to describe it," he almost said, but bit his tongue.

"Snape won't be in class today, but I assure you, your questions will be answered in time." She grabbed an unfortunate mouse by the tail and shoved it into the cage. "Don't be late."

"Yes, ma'am." Harry turned and shuffled out of the classroom in the direction of the dungeons. Well, that answered one of his questions, at least. Snape would_ not_ be in class today. But that just raised another dozen in his mind. If he wasn't in class, where was he? Was he still in the Hospital Wing? If he was, why? What exactly _was_ wrong with him?

Regardless of what he hoped, none of Harry's questions were answered as he made his way down to the Potions classroom.

"Find what you were looking for?" Hermione asked him as he slid into the seat beside her.

"Uh, yeah. No problem." He caught her giving him an odd look, but tried his best to ignore it by digging through his bag.

"Where's Snape at? He's never late-"

"Professor Snape will not be attending this morning, Mr. Weasley." Professor Vector stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Immediately, a clamor arose from the gathered students.

"Where is he?"

"Is he sick?"

"Is he _dead_?"

Vector turned to glare in the direction of the hopeful sounding voice. "Professor Snape is not dead," she said icily. "However much that disappoints some of you. He will not be attending class for the rest of this week, however. You are excused from Potions until further notice is given by Headmaster Dumbledore. Dismissed."

"Eck," Ron muttered to Harry as she turned and left. "That's one very good reason I'm not taking arithmancy."

"That, and the fact that you're just no bloody good at it," Hermione said. "C'mon, let's head up to the common room."

"What, not the library? Good God, Harry, this must be a first!"

Hermione scowled and elbowed Ron in the ribs. "Don't be such a prick," she told him as they gathered their books into their bags. "I'm not in the mood for studying." At Ron's incredulous look, she rolled her eyes. "Look, it's not important. Let's just go, alright?"

"Fine, fine. Whatever you say." Ron turned to Harry. "Game of chess?"

"Sure." Harry barely heard Ron as he stared after Professor Vector. It looked as if still no answers would come today.

"Ron, meeting in the Great Hall tonight before supper," Percy's voice came drifting into the common room from somewhere by the stairs. "Let others know."

"Yeah, yeah, let me do all the work for you," Ron grumbled as they listened to Percy's footsteps recede down the hall. "Meeting tonight? What about, I wonder."

"Probably Filch complaining about the noise or something," George spoke up from a chair near the fire. "Or he's got another five thousand items to add to his 'forbidden' list. Hey, I know! Maybe he wants to forbid brooms to everyone but the Quidditch players!"

"He can try," Ron snapped, fists clenched. "If he does, I've got seven sickles saying that Wood's gonna come back here to show that little-"

"It's about Snape," Harry said monotonously. All eyes swiveled to look in his direction. "They're going to explain why he hasn't been in class lately." He stared into the fire, still seeing the green sparks fly amidst the more cheerful red and orange. _Morsmordre_. The skull, the fire, the sparks.

He jumped as Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. "You want to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know what you mean," he lied.

"Okay." He could tell by the look in Hermione's eyes that she wasn't convinced, but was content to leave him be until he was ready. For that, he thanked her. "It's just- you haven't really been yourself for these past few days."

"I'm just...I dunno. I guess I'm just tired." Harry shrugged. Ron nodded.

"Yeah," he said, watching the chess pieces pick themselves up from the battlefield and limp home towards the box. "What with OWLs and everything coming up soon, it's been a rough few weeks."

"That must be it," Harry said. He gave Hermione a smile that he hoped was reassuring. "I'll be fine. Really."

"Okay." It was obvious that she was still doubtful, but before she could say anything more, Ron stood.

"Meeting starts in a few minutes," he said as he placed the box back where it came from. "We might as well head down now."

Despite their early arrival, the Great Hall was nearly packed as they walk in through the double doors. They scrambled to find three seats together at the Gryffindor table and had just sat down as Dumbledore entered, a sober expression on his normally jovial face.

He looked over the assembled students, his blue eyes dull and clouded for the first time Harry could remember. He felt a chill in his spine as he remembered the same look in Snape's eyes, just days before.

"Many of you," Dumbledore began, his voice carrying clearly over the hushed crowd of students. "Many of you have been wondering as to the whereabouts of Hogwarts' Potions Master, Professor Snape." He took a deep breath and glanced at Professor McGonagall. The Transfigurations Professor had her hands clenched tightly in her lap as she returned Dumbledore's worried look.

"I believe it is time that we cleared up some of Professor Snape's past," he continued, looking directly at Harry. Harry swallowed and looked away. "I know there are many of you here who hold him in a rather-- unsavory light. To most of us he has come across as bitter, harsh, cruel and remote. He has never been the helping hand or the caring voice that has helped many of us through our hard times, nor has he been the most understanding of people when it came to a late homework assignment or a failed class project." Murmurs of agreement swept over the room as heads nodded and low keyed insults flew from mouth to ear. Dumbledore waited patiently for the noise to subside.

"I cannot excuse Professor Snape's behavior, nor can I condone it. However, I can at least help you to understand a little better the man you all grew to hate." Harry watched as Dumbledore took a deep breath and wondered absently whether the Headmaster knew what he was getting into or not. "Severus Snape was a liar, a murderer, a traitor, and a Death Eater."

The muted whispers grew into a dull roar at the sound of Dumbledore's words. Students began shouting, demanding explanations, excuses, proof. Shouts of "I told you so," echoed throughout the chamber. Harry flicked his eyes in the direction of the Slytherin table, where Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy all sat in dumb surprise, although it was unclear as to whether or not the surprise was due to the news of Snape's true past, or because Dumbledore had chosen to disclose the information so publicly.

When it became evident that this noise would not abate as quickly or as easily as the former had, Dumbledore raised his hands for quiet. When even that failed, he turned to Professor Sinistra who raised her wand and fired a stream of brightly colored sparks into the air, demanding attention.

"Professor Snape was all of these things," Dumbledore continued smoothly, as if he had never been interrupted. "But first and foremost, Severus was an ally to the Ministry." His blue eyes were sad as he spoke. "Many of us may have suspected Snape of dealing with the Darker Arts, but few of us knew of his true position." Again, those blue eyes found Harry's green. Slowly, word by agonizing word, Dumbledore released the true Snape before each and all of the gathered students. Expressions ranged from shock and disbelief to tears and clenched knuckles. Crabbe and Goyle sat in stony silence, while Draco kept his gaze fixed carefully on Dumbledore.

"He did not act without risk," Dumbledore was saying. "And never was that risk more apparent than four nights ago. While on a mission for the Ministry, Professor Snape was discovered by the Death Eaters for what he was. He was returned to us that night, and until now we did not fully appreciate the cruelty of Voldemort's followers."

Beside him, Harry sensed Ron and Hermione's wince at Voldemort's name. A cold lump settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Professor Snape will no longer hold his position as Potions Master for this school. Likewise, he will give up his place as Head of Slytherin House. Professor Sinistra will now hold that honour."

_Dubious as it may be_, Harry thought to himself. Yet what could be so bad as to make Snape resigned his place as both Potions Master and Head of House?

"Four nights ago, Professor Snape lost something most of us could never dream of living without. Indeed, most of us have never even considered life without it. That night the Death Eaters took from him the most integral sense a wizard could have, sight. It left him nothing more than the shell of a man. It is possible he may one day regain his former self, but he will never be the same man most of us knew."

Harry felt his heart grow cold. _One has turned his back on the Death Eaters forever_._ When found, he will be suitably punished_. If he had only been a little clearer, a little faster, a little smarter-

Dumbledore's voice grew hard as it rang out across the vast hall. "Let us hold this in our minds and hearts when the time comes. When faced with the choice between right and wrong, hard or easy, let you all remember the man who took it upon himself to right his own faults and risk his very life to do so. Let us remember this thing that calls itself a man who could so easily take the life of a good, honest boy such as Cedric Diggory, who could so harshly take the very core of a man who sought nothing more than redemption. Remember these acts when you are offered power, riches, fame in exchange for your soul. May you never cross that line to join a creature so foul as to tear down the lives of those who are truly good, and if you should ever be faced with such a choice, may you remember the lives of those he ruined. Always remember the name of Cedric Diggory and the man Severus Snape once was."

"May we always remember," Harry muttered in chorus with the rest of the students and teachers. Filled goblets appeared before each of them and they all took a sip, savoring the taste of memories along with the bitter taste of the wine. Harry noticed several students who had burst into tears during Dumbledore's speech, and knew that the tears were for Cedric. There was not one student in the entire hall who would shed a tear for Snape. Hermione clenched her fist on the table, her eyes burning with fierce light. Across the table from him, Ginny worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Ron sat uncomfortably, staring at his hands.

"May we always remember," he whispered again, staring blankly at the table where green sparks danced before his eyes. The skull, the serpent, the man.

May we always remember.


	3. The Visit

Silently, pajama clad and barefoot, Harry slipped noiselessly through the halls of Hogwarts. As he crept through the dark corridors, Dumbledore's words echoed in his ears. Try as he might, the words refused to sink in. He could not seem to accept what he knew must be the truth. Yet he had to see- to know- for himself.

As he reached the doors of the Hospital Wing, he hesitated only a moment before pushing the door open. It swung inward without a sound. Though the waiting room was dark, Harry saw the glow of a candle coming from further inside. He tiptoed quietly over and poked his head around the doorframe, but all he could see was what he took to be a bed surrounded by a thin curtain. He leaned in further to try for a closer look when he slipped and banged his knuckles against the door frame.

Immediately, a figure straightened behind the curtain.

"Albus? Albus, is that you? Albus?"

Harry nearly turned and fled right then and there. While the voice was obviously Snape's, Harry had never heard the caustic Potions Master reduced to the state of desperation and fear that his voice implied. It was the voice of a child, a very frightened and lonely child.

"Albus?" When Harry didn't respond, Snape's voice grew shriller, more urgent. "Who's there? Who are you? Albus? _Albus!_"

"It- it's me," Harry said, stepping into the Hospital proper. "P-professor Snape, it's Harry Potter. Albus isn't here."

Snape's manner changed abruptly at the mention of Harry's name. "Potter," he said slowly, his voice returning to its familiar, bitter self. "So. Have you come, then, to see if the rumours were true?"

"No. No, sir."

"Ah, then it must have been to mock me. Is that it?" Snape spread his arms wide, casting eerie shadows in the flickering light. "Well, here I am. Take your best shot, Potter. Go back to your little friends and let them know exactly how pathetic I really am. Tell them how I cried out like a child in the dark, how I am now more useless than Nev-"

"Stop it." The words were out of Harry's mouth before he could catch them. Snape's silhouette looked like a giant demented bat from behind the curtain.

"Not that, then?" Snape's voice was silky, but it lacked its usual bite. That absence disturbed Harry more than anything. It simply was not- Snape.

"I came to see how you were, sir," Harry stammered. "To see how you recovered-"

"Ah yes. Now I remember." He let his arms drop. "You were there, Potter, when I made my...return." Harry could see the way Snape's head was cocked. "So you know."

"Yessir. The whole school knows." Harry swallowed heavily at the memory of the somber meeting. Snape said nothing, and the silence between them grew.

Slowly, Harry reached out. His fingers were shaking as he touched the thin fabric of the curtain. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the fabric tight between his fingers and pulled the curtain aside.

He didn't know what he had been expecting. Snape's eyes gone completely, nothing left but two empty sockets. Or maybe two white, sightless orbs that bore closer resemblance to marbles than eyes, covered by a cloth. Instead, he was met by the square gaze of Snape's black eyes. He dropped the curtain with a gasp and actually took two steps back before he realized something wasn't right.

First off, though Harry moved back away from Snape's line of sight, Snape made no move to follow. Second, there was something missing from the Professor's black gaze, a light that had been there before and was now conspicuously absent. It gave him the dull, glazed look of someone dead or unconscious.

Harry felt a lump settle in the pit of his stomach. That's when it hit him. Snape was truly blind.

"Pro-" Harry began, but got no farther. Snape must have heard the curtain being swept aside, for he turned in Harry's general direction, his lips curved into snarl.

"Take a good, close look, Potter," he hissed. "Remember this for all your friends. Now get out. _Out!_"

Harry needed no second invitation. No sooner had the second command left Snape's mouth than Harry had turned and run from the Hospital Wing. He ran so hard and so fast, he didn't even see where he was going. All he could see was Snape, his eyes so dull and lifeless, his silhouette rising from the bed like a twisted angel. He kept his head down, eyes fixed on the blurred shadow of the floor stones. So intent was he on his fixed path that he didn't see the other body rising up before him until it was too late.

"Uf! Easy there, you. What are you doing out of your dorm so late any- Harry!"

Harry looked up, still dazed from both the collision and his encounter with Snape, looked up to a familiar, though startled, face. "Ah- Percy- I...uh..."

"Come now," Percy's brow wrinkled in concern. "You look as if though you've seen a ghost!"

"Well, I-"

"Not here," Percy interrupted him. "It's freezing in the hallway! Come to my room, I have a pot of tea going and we can talk there." Without waiting for Harry to respond, Percy turned and headed down the corridor. "Here we are," he said moments later. "Just come inside and have a seat. I'll have tea ready in just a tick-"

Harry, bewildered, sat gingerly on the edge of a stiff leather chair while Percy busied himself in the next room. Soon he emerged carrying a tea tray filled with cups and saucers.

"Pour yourself a cup," he said, placing the tray on the table. He sat in a chair opposite Harry's. "You were in to see Snape, weren't you?"

Harry nodded dumbly, wrapping his hands around the warm cup. "I- I needed to see for myself," he whispered, staring into the murky tea. "I couldn't believe it, even after Dumbledore told us- I saw him when they found him, you know."

"Dumbledore told me." Percy sipped his tea. "That's how I knew you were in to see him. That's also why I'm here."

Harry looked up, confused. "I thought you were here on break," he said, flicking hair out of his eyes. "Just for a few weeks- to see Ron and Fr-"

"That's how it started," Percy told him. "Then- all this happened. They don't need me over at the Ministry anymore, not for a while at least." Harry smiled to himself at Percy's subtle insistence that he was still a crucial figure at the Ministry. "So I offered to, erm, _supervise_ Snape's classes until Dumbledore could find a replacement."

For a moment, Harry said nothing. _Percy_ taking over for _Snape_? Then, as it sunk in, he began to snicker.

"What?" Percy raised an eyebrow. "I'm not _that_ bad at-"

"It's not that," Harry assured him, still fighting back a smile. "It's just- poor Ron! First he has to put up with Snape, now he's got his own brother teaching!"

Percy smiled as Harry continued to smirk, though it was a little wistful. "It's only for a short while," he repeated. "Just until Dumbledore hires someone permanent."

"Yeah." Harry suddenly stopped laughing as he realized the implication of Percy's words. "So, it's for good, then? Snape's...out?"

Percy shook his head sadly. "Someone used some very strong Dark Magic on him. As far as we know, there's no cure. People are working on it, but it's not very hopeful."

Harry sat in silence, the steam from his tea fogging up his glasses. He wiped them impatiently. "It's weird," he said. "I should be glad Snape's gone. He was nothing but a bloody git-" He stopped suddenly, remembering who it was he was speaking to, but Percy seemed to take no mind. "To say I wasn't fond of him would be an understatement, and he felt the same way. Him giving up the Potions job should be the best news I've heard all year. But-" He trailed off. "It's not. I don't get it."

"I wasn't exactly a big fan of Snape's either," Percy told him. "But what happened to him is not something that any of us would wish on anyone else, regardless of how much we dislike them. It's hard for us to imagine something so cruel, so heinous, and that just goes to show how terrible You-Know-Who can be. Snape was probably better off dead. There's no joy for anyone when the other side wins."

Harry stared. This was_ Percy_ talking? Ron's older, priggish brother Percy? As he spoke now, there was no trace of the pompous peacock Harry remembered from his stay at the Burrow, or the fawning sycophant at the World Quidditch Cup. Harry had never imagined he would be hearing these words come out of Percy's mouth. But he felt it rude to bring it up, and stayed silent.

Percy sighed and sat back in his chair. "I don't know what will happen to Snape," he said, toying with his empty tea cup. "But I don't imagine that Dumbledore would put him out on the streets. Still, it must be hard for him-" He sighed again. "It's late, Harry. You had best be getting to bed."

"Yeah." Harry put his teacup down on the tray and rose to leave.

"I'll see you in Potions tomorrow," Percy called as he left. Harry nodded, although he knew he couldn't be seen. "Sure thing," he called back.

The stones were cold under Harry's bare feet as he made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower, but he barely felt them. Weariness descended over him like a heavy blanket, and at that moment all he wanted to do was bury himself beneath the duvet on his bed and sleep. Even so, as he finally felt his feet thaw and warm and slipped off into slumber, he couldn't help but to remember those empty, unseeing eyes and the hopeless cries of Dumbledore's name thrown out into the dark.

"_He's **what**?_" Students looked over curiously at the sudden shout, but Ron took no notice. "He's teaching _here_? _Percy_?" He groaned and leaned back against the wall, sinking slowly to the floor. "I can't believe this. First Snape, now Percy. Where will it end?"

"It could be worse," Hermione offered, fighting back a giggle. Harry was behind her, not bothering to cover his grin.

"Worse? What could be worse that this? My own bigheaded prig of a brother, in charge of _my_ class."

"It could be your mother," Harry reminded him from behind Hermione. Ron did nothing but whimper in reply. Harry and Hermione exchanged a look and shrugged. They were going to be late-

"Well, well, isn't this a surprise." They all turned at the sound of a smug voice behind them. Draco stood in the middle of the hallway, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "What's the matter, Weasley? Money getting so tight your brother had to take a second job?"

"Shove it, Malfoy," Harry hissed, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "At least try for the same amount of integrity your precious Head of House had before Voldemort got to him."

Draco shrugged. "Traitor had it coming to him," he said loftily, tossing his bangs out of his eyes. "It was only a matter of time." He turned, Crabbe and Goyle following his lead. "See you in Potions," he said with a smirk. His fading voice reached their ears as he walked off down the hall. "I wonder how long that Ministry lapdog will last..."

"Stupid bast-" Harry began, but Hermione stopped him.

"Let's go. We're going to be late." She grabbed Ron by the arm and hauled him to his reluctant feet. "Don't let it get to you."

"Easy for you to say," he grumbled, but let her drag him up. "Coming, Harry?"

"Yeah." Was it his imagination, or had Draco's face gone a little bit paler when Harry mentioned Snape's name? "Let's go."

They were the last ones to enter the Potions classroom, exactly fifteen seconds late. That would have been enough of an excuse for Snape to throw them all in detention, but things had changed since then. Percy wasn't even in the classroom when they took their seats.

"Holding up okay, Ron?" Harry whispered. Ron nodded grimly, preparing himself for his ordeal. He didn't have long to wait.

Percy hurried in just moments after they arrived, out of breath and looking more than a bit ruffled. "Sorry," he apologized as he dropped some books on the desk. "Running a bit late today. My name, for those of you who don't recognize me, is Percival Weasley, graduate of Hogwarts. As you know, Professor Snape will regretfully no longer be in charge of this class. I am here to substitute until Headmaster Dumbledore finds a suitable replacement. Any questions?"

To his right, Harry heard Ron whispering the words "don't mention me," over and over under his breath. Hermione raised her hand.

"Will you be carrying on with Professor Snape's lesson plan?"

Percy nodded. "You are expected to fulfill the requirements of this class, even without the guidance of a teacher," he told them.

"Some guidance," someone muttered from the back.

"Since my talents aren't really suited for this class, I am here to act as a supervisor only. I will not be able to help you in any way with your class work. All assignments are to be handed in to me, and I will see to it that they are handled by the proper authorities."

Harry groaned to himself. Trust Percy to make a simple homework assignment sound like some government file transfer. Ron was still sunk low into his seat, eyes tightly shut as he waited for it all to be over.

"Proper authorities indeed," Draco whispered, just loud enough for Percy to overhear. "Who does he think he is, Fudge himself? According to my father, he's nothing but a lowly aide, practically out of a job since Crouch got himself killed. Just another Weasley trying to fawn his way to a decent wage."

Percy's ears went pink, but other than that he gave no indication that he had heard. Ron, however, turned a startling shade of red that Harry knew was not all out of embarrassment.

"You shut up!" he shouted, jumping out of his seat. "Just because your father's corrupt and has everyone in his pocket doesn't give you the right to-"

"_Ron!_"

Everyone looked up at the sound of Percy's voice as he roared his brother's name. Ron froze in mid-step, fist half raised towards Draco.

"Ron, you sit down this _instant_!" Percy shouted. Harry was amazed. He had never seen the middle Weasley like this. His face was bright red under his glasses and his hands were clenched tightly as he leaned forward on the desk.

"But, Perce, you _heard_ what he said-"

"Sit _down_, Ron. Right now." Percy's voice was cold. "I expect you to behave as you would with Professor Snape present, regardless of who you are or what goes on. Understand?"

Silence.

"_Understand?_"

"Yessir," Ron said sullenly. As he took his seat, Draco leaned over to a fellow Slytherin and whispered, "Yeah, or he'll go tell Mommy on you-"

**_Crack_**

The next thing Harry knew, Draco was on the floor, holding his bleeding nose with both hands. Drops of bright red blood oozed out from between his fingers. Ron stood over him, one fist still cocked and ready, breathing hard.

"_Ronald Weasley_!" Percy was furious now, his face practically glowing red. He crossed the room with quick, angry strides. "I will _not_ tolerate this kind of behavior from _anyone_,least of all my own brother!" He grabbed Ron by the wrist and jerked him to the door. "Dumbledore's office, now. You too," he said to Malfoy as they disappeared behind the door.

The class sat in stunned silence once they had left. Hermione glanced at Harry, who just shrugged. "I haven't seen Draco so set back since the day you slapped-"

Hermione coughed loudly. "Yes, that may well be," she said. "But what about Ron? Percy was absolutely _livid_ when he left." She looked around the classroom, now minus one teacher and two students. Well, more a teacher substitute. Still...

"What do we do now?"

"I dunno." Harry shrugged again. "I doubt Percy's going to come back any time soon, and we don't have the lesson plan for today. Do you think it's alright to leave?"

He half expected Hermione to firmly insist that they not leave class without permission from the Professor, but to his surprise, she nodded. "We're not doing much good here. We might as well head to the library or something."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Or something?"

"Well..." Hermione blushed and turned to pack her books into her bag. "I was thinking we should probably go find Dumbledore and explain to him what really happened. If we don't, Malfoy will probably make up some wild story to make it seem like it was all Ron's fault-- What?" she said crossly as he grinned at her.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly, still grinning. "It's just that- I'm impressed. It's not like you to get involved in teacher's affairs-"

"Percy's not a teacher," she said stiffly. "He's Ron's brother. And Draco's a lying cheat, and unless we do something, Ron's going to end up serving detention from now until summer holidays."

"Yeah, okay. I guess you're right." Harry packed up his bag and followed Hermione out of the dungeons.

"Have you ever seen Percy like that before?" Hermione whispered when they emerged into the above ground corridors. "I mean, he was practically glowing with rage. I don't think I've seen _any_ of the Weasleys that mad before. And I would never have thought Percy of all people-"

"I know what you mean," Harry said. He had suddenly remembered what Percy had said to him the night before. Quickly, he summed up the previous night's events for Hermione, carefully leaving out the parts involving his visit to Snape.

"Hmm." Hermione chewed on the end of a strand of her hair. "That is kinda odd. I guess- I guess Percy's matured a lot more than we thought." She frowned, then and pulled her hair from her mouth. "And it's all because of this stupid war!" she suddenly cried. "I hate this! First Cedric, then Snape. It's changing everyone, even Percy!"

"But-" Harry faltered for words as Hermione hung seemingly on the verge of tears. "Hasn't Percy changed for the better? I mean, what's wrong with that?"

"That's not the point!" Hermione wailed. "It's the fact that the only reason he's like this is because of _them!_ People are changing in ways they never would have if this stupid war wasn't going on. It just isn't _right!_" Suddenly she dropped her schoolbag and flung her arms around Harry's neck. "I hate them," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I hate them more than anything. When is this all going to stop, Harry? Why-" Her words dissolved into more tears as she clung to him. Unsure of what else to do, Harry just stood with his arms around her, letting the hot sting of her tears soak into his robe.

They never told anyone about what went on that afternoon in the hallway. Not even Ron when he met up with them later in the common room.

"You won't believe it," he groaned as he fell into an armchair. "Percy gave me detention for the next month. Filch is moving into a new office and I have to help him. Draco got off with nothing." A look of cold satisfaction crossed Ron's features. "At least I broke the little bastard's nose."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron. If you could just keep a shorter rein on your temper, this kind of thing would never happen. Right, Harry?"

"Eh? Oh, yeah. Right." Harry wasn't listening. He was too busy replaying the scene over and over in his mind, Ron standing over a fallen Draco, blood staining the floor stones and Draco's robes. "Did you hear that crack when you hit him, Ron? Bloody amazing!"

Ron broke out into a wide grin. "Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" he said as Hermione ignored them both with a huff and stared into a book. "He wasn't looking so smug then, was he?" The two of them recounted the finer moments of the confrontation until Fred and George walked in and threw themselves into two adjacent chairs.

"Just got word about you and Draco, Ron."

"Bastard had it coming to him, if you ask me."

"And to think, it was our own little brother-"

"Yes, our own flesh and blood to do the honors."

"I'm impressed, to say the least."

"Beyond words, m'boy. Beyond words."

The twins looked solemnly at Ron as they each placed a hand on his shoulder. Then they grinned and clapped him heavily on the back. "Don't you worry about mum none, either," Fred told him.

"Yeah, we'll make sure she doesn't find out from Percy."

At the mention of Mrs. Weasley, Ron's eyes widened. "Oh no," he groaned as he buried his head in his hands. "Mum! I completely forgot. Oh, man, she's gonna kill me when she finds out-"

"Hey now!" George exclaimed, looking extremely put out. "Haven't you heard a word we've been saying? We'll make sure she never hears a word of this from anyone!"

"How are you going to do that?" Ron demanded, his voice muffled by the sleeves of his robes. "Cast Memory Charms on the entire school, plus the teachers? There's no way you can keep this quiet."

"You forget who you're talking too," Fred reminded him. "If there's a will and a Weasley, there's a way. You just serve those detentions and leave the rest to us. Mum'll never even hear a rumour. Right, George?"  
George winked. "Exactly. Couldn't have put it better myself." They rose as one and headed off towards another corner of the common room, presumably to plan their course of action in dealing with Mrs. Weasley. "See you at dinner!"

Hermione watched them go, a worried look on her face. "What do you suppose they're going to do?" she asked as they sat, heads together in the shadows. "You don't think they're going to get into more trouble, do you?"

"I can't honestly say I care, if it means mum doesn't find out," Ron said, looking very much relieved. "They can blow up all of Hogwarts."

"It's your own fault, you know," Hermione began, but Harry jumped up before Ron could respond. The last thing they needed now was an argument.

"We've got Defense class," he said, grabbing his bag. Ron followed close behind.

"Hey, yeah, I almost forgot! We've got a new teacher now that Moody's gone. Wonder who it'll be?"

"Maybe Professor Lupin will have come back!" Hermione said hopefully. Ron grinned as he recalled the classes from two years before. "Do you think Professor Dumbledore could have persuaded the Ministry to-"

Harry shook his head. "Not a chance," he sighed. "He wrote Sirius the other day. He's somewhere in France right now."

Hermione's face fell. "That poor man. Still looking?"

Harry nodded. Remus Lupin was combing the entire continent in search of a cure for his condition. "He says it doesn't look good and he's off to Romania next. If that doesn't work out, he's on his way to America."

They walked in silence for a time, each buried in their private thoughts. Harry realized idly that with no real candidate for the Dark Arts job, Snape might have had a chance this year. Except Snape could no longer teach anything anymore-

"All right, Harry? Ron, Hermione?"

"Hagrid!" Harry looked up and felt his face break out into a huge grin as he waved furiously to the huge figure down the hall. The groundskeeper waved back and pointed to a sack in his left hand. The brown fabric was moving as he held it; whatever was inside was almost as big as Harry. "See you in class tomorrow!"

The three nodded as Hagrid disappeared around a corner. As soon as his footsteps faded away, Ron collapsed against the wall.

"Blimey!" he said, wiping his brow. "Did you see that thing he had? It must have been as big as I am! I might skip out of class tomorrow..."

"Just as long as there aren't anymore blast-ended skewts," Hermione said, though she too looked visibly paler. "I mean, honestly! Someone needs to have a talk with him before someone gets seriously hurt!"

"He doesn't mean any harm..." Harry said weakly, though secretly he agreed wholeheartedly with them both.

"Oh, I know _that_," Hermione said. "Hagrid wouldn't hurt any of us, not even Malfoy. Not on purpose, at least. But you see, Harry, that's the problem. He doesn't understand that what he sees as cute and exciting could kill the rest of us!"

"So what is it, then? Do you want him out of a job, is that it?" Harry snapped without meaning to. He winced and cursed his nerves as Hermione seemed to deflate and slump against the wall beside Ron.

"No," she said in a small voice. "Of course not. But..." She bit her lip. "I'm worried that someone else might."

"Draco." Harry and Ron said together. Hermione nodded grimly. They stood in silence for long moments as they each remembered the encounter with Buckbeak two years ago, then Malfoy's delight at seeing Hagrid sent off to Azkaban. "He'd like nothing better than to see Hagrid out on the streets," Ron said. "And if he could get his father to arrange it..."

"I think..." Hermione trailed off uncomfortably. "I think it's time we all had a talk with Hagrid," she said at last. "Just...make him aware of what's going on. Maybe get him to tone down the class a bit."

"Just as long as we don't end up back with flobberworms," Ron muttered under his breath, but nodded along with Harry. "We'll go this afternoon," he said.

At that moment, the rest of the Defense class came swarming down the hall, cutting their conversation short. Ron, Harry and Hermione stood and filed into the classroom with the rest of the students, taking three seats in the front. There was no sign of a teacher anywhere.

"What do you think the new teacher'll be like?" Parvati whispered. Dean Thomas shrugged. "Well he can't be any worse than Lockhart, and there's no way he can be as good as Lupin or Moody-"

"Yeah, but Lupin was a werewolf, and Moody was a Dark Arts wizard," Seamus interrupted. "If anyone would know anything about Defense against the Dark Arts, it would be those two."

"And let's not forget Quirrel," Ron said to Harry in a low voice. Harry shuddered; he'd been trying to forget Quirrel since he had found out who- and what- he really was.

"Hello."

Harry jumped at the sound of a voice quite near his ear. He turned around as Hermione stifled a shriek and felt something cold and airy brush his nose.

"Blimey!" Ron swore as Neville yelped and fell out of his seat. "Don't _do_ that!"

"My apologies," the voice said again. It was Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. He floated up to the ceiling and gazed down at the class. "I seem to forget the effect I have on people."

"It's okay-" Harry stammered, trying to get his heart out of his throat and back to where it belonged. "Just- give a little warning next time, would you?"

Nick gave him a ghostly smile as he drifted over to the front desk. As he settled himself comfortably behind it and it became clear he was not about to leave, the class began to murmur. Finally, Parvati raised her hand.

"Excuse me, err- sir? When will our teacher be arriving?"

Nick blinked and pulled a pale, semi-translucent watch from his clothing. If he squinted, Harry could see the faint gears ticking away inside. "Any minute now, my dear," Nick said, replacing the watch. "It's not unusual for them to be late."

"_Them?_" Hermione whispered, but before Harry had a chance to respond, it became clear what Nick was talking about.

Ghosts began floating in from all sides, gliding through the walls as silently as- well, ghosts. Many, like Nick himself, were dressed in old fashioned clothing including doublets and ruffs. Others were came in splendid robes and cloaks of varying shades of silver and gray, though Harry had a sneaking suspicion that was due to the fact that they were dead rather than some sort of fashion preference. A few were clad in armour and many were covered in silvery bloodstains. One or two were even dressed like Harry and his fellow students.

"Ah, here they are." Nick beamed and clapped his hands together. "Without a suitable Defense teacher, Dumbledore allowed me to volunteer my services," he explained as the ghosts gathered around the desk. "I took the liberty of inviting a few of my friends to help me. What you're going to hear is a series of first hand accounts of the actual victims of Dark Magic."

Low murmurs filled the classroom as the students took this all in. Ron and Harry shared a look; this was something new. Hermione frowned, but took out her notebook, ready for anything. Neville was still cowering in his seat, shrinking away from a particularly vicious looking battle-scarred ghost.

Despite their early trepidations, the class went marvelously well. They heard stories of a man who survived the goblin rebellions, only to be bludgeoned to death by a Red Cap the next day. There was a slender, sad faced woman who was slain by a banshee; they noticed Seamus looking particularly pale as she related her story. Two dusty ghosts related their tale of how they were stalked and killed by a pogrebin. Harry shuddered at the similarities between the tactics of the little rock like monster and a dementor.

Finally, as the class drew to a close, Nick beckoned one particular ghost forward. Upon seeing who it was, Harry groaned and sank down low into his seat. Ron gulped and the corner of Hermione's mouth twitched, as if she were fighting back a smile or a grimace. Only one ghost they knew had spots. Or glasses, or a face streaked with tears. The three of them glanced at each other and cringed as they mouthed the name. _Myrtle_.

Harry sighed and sank even lower in his chair.

As soon as Defense Against the Dark Arts ended, Harry, Ron and Hermione grouped together in the hallway outside the classroom. Harry felt as if he had narrowly missed getting hit by the Knight Bus.

"How in the world did Nick manage to convince Myrtle to agree to that?" he moaned as he checked the tips of his ears to make sure they weren't on fire. "That was...humiliating!"

"He he, Nick didn't convince poor, pimply Myrtle, no he didn't. It was Peeves that was doing the convincing!" The familiar, piercing voice came from above their heads as Hogwarts' most irritating ghost floated down from the ceiling. "She wasn't wanting to go, but then she found out Harry Potter was going to be there. She agreed quick then, yes she did!"

"And I wonder how she found out _that_," Ron muttered as he took a halfhearted swipe at Peeves. The mischief making ghost just laughed and soared away. "Worthless blighter- I wonder why Dumbledore doesn't get rid of him once and for all."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but before she got the words out Nick interrupted by emerging from the wall directly between them.

"I am- that is to say- believe me, Harry. If I had known I would never have-" He stopped, his face flushed silver. "I thought a basilisk victim would be a good ending for the class."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, though with difficulty. "But- _honestly!_ Bursting into tears like that- and then wailing at me in front of the entire class for not coming to see her!"

"Look on the bright side," Ron said, trying to cheer him up. "It could have been worse. You know, like if Percy had been there and found out you had been in the girls'-"

"_If_?"

The trio spun around. "Harry," Percy said, his lips thinned and compressed. "And Ron. If I might have a word with you both...?"

"So now I have detention on top of detention," Ron moaned as he dumped his books on the table with a dull _thud_. Harry and Hermione looked up from their History of Magic essays. "Mum's gonna kill me."

"Have faith," Harry told him, putting his quill and parchment aside. "Fred and George will come up with something."

"And it's just as likely to get them _in_ trouble as it is to get Ron _out_ of it," Hermione sniffed. "But how did _you_ get off so easy?"

Harry snorted. "Who said I did? I'm helping Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing from now until Christmas holidays. What's the big deal, anyway? It was just the girl's bathroom, and it happened three years ago! And didn't we save Ginny's life because of it?"

"Still, you broke the rules," Hermione said, turning back to her essay. "They can't be making exceptions _all_ the time."

"Yeah, well." Harry sighed and pushed back his chair as he checked his watch. "Time for me to go report to Madam Pomfrey. If you want, Ron, I'll work on this essay with you later tonight."

"Sure thing." Ron slid into the seat Harry just unoccupied and leaned over Hermione's shoulder, reading her essay. As he left, Harry heard her squeal in indignation as Ron tweaked a strand of her wild hair, then as she batted him over the head with her quill and they both laughed. He closed his eyes tightly, wondering where the small ache in his chest came from, and the tightening of his throat. Every year, Ron and Hermione seemed to be getting closer and closer, while at the same time Harry felt more alienated than his scar had ever made him feel. Then when Hermione had made that comment about Ron not asking her to the Yule Ball last year-

_Stop it,_ Harry told himself firmly. _They're friends_._ And they're _your_ friends_. Still, he found he couldn't shake the feeling that he was slowly losing more and more each year to forces far beyond his control.


	4. The Convergence

"Well, I'm glad to see you could join us."

Harry jumped as Pomfrey came up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He withdrew his head from her office door.

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," he said. "I was, ah, helping Ron with his essay and lost track of the time."

"On a Saturday? Mhm." The corner of Pomfrey's mouth twitched. "Your partner in crime. Well, anyway." She led him over to a large sink full of jars and bottles. "You can start by making sure each of these containers is emptied, washed and dried. Here," she thrust a pair of heavy rubber gloves at him. "Some of those jars haven't been opened in years. No telling what's inside now, or what it may do to you."

"Bloody wonderful," Harry muttered as he donned the gloves. Morosely, he took in the huge piles of glassware and, with a sigh, reached for the top jar.

Several hours later, Harry placed the last of the bottles onto a shelf where rows and rows of shiny glass sparkled back at him. He smiled in a curious mixture of relief and satisfaction that he had finished the job at last, and done it well.

"Good work." Pomfrey's voice floated from the doorway where she stood, a tray of food in her hands. "I wasn't expecting you to have finished so quickly." She stopped to inspect a blue glass bottle. "Very good. Next week you can help me sort, fill and label them. For now," she shoved the tray into his hands, "bring this to Professor Snape. Last bed on the left." She bustled off again before Harry even had time to steady the dishes on the tray. He stood there for a moment, blinked, shrugged and walked through the door into the infirmary.

He walked down the line of beds, careful not to spill the contents of the tray. As he reached the last of the row, he balanced it on one hand and slowly drew the curtains with the other. "Professor Snape?"

In a heartbeat, Snape sat straight up, his brow furrowed. Then: "Potter." From his lips the word sounded more like a curse than a name, the sound resonated with more years' worth of history than should have been possible. Harry shivered.

"Uh, Professor, Madam Pomfrey said I should bring this to you--" Harry lifted the tray in indication, then flushed as he realized the uselessness of the gesture.

"Set it on the table," Snape told him shortly. Harry looked around and spied the small bedside table to the right of the bed. "Well?"

Harry caught himself staring at Snape and flushed again; between Myrtle and his own foolish actions, his ears stood at risk of catching fire before the year was out. "Sorry, sir."

"Don't stand there gawking," the Potions Master snapped. "I am not here for your entertainment, Mister Potter. Go."

"Yessir." Harry turned and walked away as quickly as possible, his stomach feeling a more than a bit unsettled. _I am not here for your entertainment, Mister Potter_. As if he thought himself a freak show, the blind man, the victim of Voldemort's wrath. Harry grimaced at the memory of Snape's words. He would _never_--

And yet he had. He had stood and stared as if by losing his sight, Snape had also lost his humanity, his right to human decency. Snape might be a mean bastard at the best of times and a downright horror at the worst, but he nevertheless, he was a human being, a person. Just because he could no longer depend on his sense of sight did not make him anything less.

Harry mulled over these thoughts in his mind as he set to work sorting healing potions for Pomfrey. It disturbed him that he had acted in such a manner, though he knew that most people would have reacted the same way.

_I'm the boy-who-lived, dammit,_ he thought as he set a red bottle aside to join its fellows. _Everyone tells me I'm something special, something extraordinary. I'm not **supposed** to be like most other people. And dammit, I shouldn't have acted like some silly prat_.

His mental self-berration went on for a long time. It only wound down to a stop when he reached for the last bottle on the shelf and by that time, it was well past dark.

"Harry?"

"Eh? Oh, Madam Pomfrey." Harry read the label of the last bottle and set it down on the bottom shelf. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do before I go?"

"As a matter of fact, there is." Pomfrey looked worried. "I know it's late, and I know you're probably tired, but there's just something I'd like some help with."

"Sure thing." Harry tried to stifle a yawn. He _was_ tired, and he wouldn't mind getting some sleep, but if Pomfrey needed him for something, he wasn't about to say no. He hid a grin behind his hand. Stupid, noble Gryffindor. "What is it?"

"Wonderful." Pomfrey smiled at him and led him out back into the infirmary. "Professor Snape has been a bit...troublesome lately. It's nothing serious or harmful," she added hastily. "At least, not to anyone else. He--" She paused, searching for the right words. "Ever since he started going back to...since he started going back, he's been suffering from nightmares. Ordinarily, he wakes up and it's only a matter of moments before he calms himself, but lately..." She frowned and shook her head. "He wakes up, but he doesn't seem to know what's going on around him. I'll bet a galleon it's because of his condition." She shook her head again. "Poor man. I can't imagine what it must be like for him, to not be able to see, to affirm what he should already know. To wake up and not know whether you're still dreaming or not, when you can't see the faces of your friends--" She broke off abruptly. "So anyway," she said, fixing a smile on her face as she turned back to Harry. "If you could just stay here for a little while longer and help me if he starts to get...restless."

Harry nodded mutely. He could see the lines of strain around Pomfrey's mouth and eyes, and it was clear that her bright smile was forced. "What should I do if he does have nightmares?"

"Oh, I'll still be here," Pomfrey assured him. "If I'm not in the room, just call and I'll come in a hurry. Then just help me keep him settled until he realizes we are who we are." That fake smile again. "Thank you so much, Harry. It's a real help."

"No problem. Is there a place I can wait?"

"Oh! Yes, I forgot." Pomfrey drew the curtains from around one of the beds. "You're welcome to wait here, if you'd like. The alternative is one of those chairs out in the waiting room, and they aren't exactly what you'd call the best in seated comfort." Harry jumped onto the bed and fell back on the soft pillows. "Would you like some chocolate? It's all I have at the moment."

"No thanks." Harry grinned. "If this was what detention was like all the time, I wouldn't mind getting in trouble half as much."

"Don't get used to it," Pomfrey warned mock sternly. "I just don't think you really need to be punished for that particular mishap. After all, you did save Ginny from--" Her face twisted in distaste and she turned to walk out. "I'll be in my office if you need me. If nothing happens in a few hours, you can go. His nightmares usually aren't a problem after eleven, or so."

Harry listened as Pomfrey's footsteps faded away. He closed his eyes, reveling in the softness of the pillows. It _was_ late, after all, and he was tired. Surely it couldn't hurt if he just took a quick nap. If something _did_ happen, it would wake him up anyway. So thinking, Harry slowly let himself drift away into the clean, soft sheets.

"Mrgghhh_, NO!_"

Harry bolted upright as a terrified scream wrenched him from sleep. Fumbling for his glasses which had fallen off while he slept, he scrambled off the bed and hit the floor at a run. "_Damn_." He ran smack into one of the bedposts. He shook his head and tried to ignore his stinging face as he kept on running.

"Get away!"

"Professor Snape!" Harry grabbed Snape's arm and tried to hold him down on the bed. That seemed to be exactly the wrong thing to do, because at that moment, Snape went berserk.

"Don't touch me!" he screamed, wrenching his arm out of Harry's grip. "Damn you, Lucius, wasn't once enough? Isn't this _enough?_" He struck out in Harry's direction, but Harry dodged easily. "Professor Snape!"

"Don't call me that!" Snape seemed to be oblivious to all that was going on around him. He was trapped in his own mind, creating pictures and images from a dream he didn't know was over. "What more can you do to me, Lucius? _What is there left to take?"_

"Professor Snape!" Harry yelled for the third time. "It's me! Lucius isn't here, Professor. It's me, Harry Potter!" He ducked as Snape's fist came hurtling through the air at his head. "It was a dream, Snape, a dream! It's just a dream. It's over, Snape. It's over, no one else is here! Lucius is gone, it's just me. It's me, Harry Potter. Come on, Snape, snap_ out_ of it!"

Abruptly, Snape froze, his unseeing eyes wide. Then it was as if he suddenly deflated. He sank back against the pillows with no sign of the violent fear that had gripped him just heartbeats ago. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mister Potter," he said tonelessly. "Don't ever call me 'Snape' again. I may no longer be a teacher here, but I am still your superior."

"Yessir," Harry whispered, weak with relief. "Sorry, sir."

Snape grunted, but said nothing in reply.

"Should I got get Madam Pomfrey?" For some reason, Snape's screams hadn't woken the Mediwitch. For a moment, Harry wondered if something could be wrong with her.

"Perhaps it's best," Snape said. Harry stood and turned to head towards Pomfrey's office, but before he had taken two steps, Snape reached out and snagged his robes.

"Wait," he said softly. "I--" Harry allowed himself to be pulled back. "I don't think I want you to go just yet."

"Professor?"

"Come here." Snape pulled Harry closer. Harry froze, startled, when Snape gently placed his hand over his face, tracing the lines of his eyes, his nose, mouth, cheekbones and jaw. "Harry Potter," he murmured. "Harry Potter. Not Lucius. Not Riddle. Potter." His fingers traced over Harry's skin, reaffirming what he thought he knew. Nothing was certain anymore, not for him, not for a man who could no longer trust his senses. For a moment, Harry could almost see the eyes on the tips of Snape's fingers, eyes that saw through touch and feel now, not color and light. The thought made him shudder.

With a start, Harry realized that Snape's touch had not left his skin. With an even bigger start, he realized that he didn't mind. More to the point, the stirrings he felt told him that not only did he not mind, but rather quite the opposite.

"Your face is getting hot," Snape said, a note of amusement creeping into his voice. Harry flushed redder as he realized that, once again, his face was flaming. "What is there to be embarrassed about now, Mister Potter?"

"I--" Harry didn't answer. What was he thinking? Well, that was pretty obvious. But-- why? And since when? This was _Snape_ he was thinking about! _Snape's_ hand on his face, his fingertips brushing up against his eyes, his lips, his jaw. What if-- Merlin, what if he was _wrong_? What if Snape was doing just what he said he was, soothing away his fears with a touch, because sight was no longer an option? What if--

"Professor--" His voice came out a harsh croak. He cleared his throat, but it didn't help. Was he certain? Absolutely certain? Well, his body left no doubts as to what the answer to _that_ was. But still...."Professor--"

"Yes, Mister Potter?" The hand didn't waver.

"I--" Slowly, Harry reached up to touch the white hand on his face. Snape froze for an instant, then drew his hand back.

"Don't." The word was out before Harry even had time to think. But once it was, he didn't hesitate. "Please," he said, taking the cold hand in both of his. "Don't stop."

Snape's voice was hard as he tried to free his hand. "Don't toy with me, child," he growled. "You don't know what you're doing. What this means. Don't play those games with me."

Harry felt a rush of anger. "_Me?_" he demanded. "You're telling _me_ not to toy with _you?_ What was that you were doing then, just now? So why is alright for _you_ to play those games, to do something like that and then have the gall to tell _me_ not to toy with _you?_" He gripped Snape's hand harder, now. "Please," he said, his voice softer, his anger gone. He lowered his hands, bringing Snape down with him, placing his cold, bony hand over the hardness beneath his robes. "Don't tell me I don't know what I'm doing."

Snape closed his unseeing eyes, but did not attempt to remove his hand. "What's to assure me you won't go running to Dumbledore tomorrow morning, saying I raped you? Who's to say I didn't try to seduce you, to take advantage of you? Don't do this to me, boy. I won't have it."

"Professor-- Severus." Harry leaned forward and brushed his fingers over Snape's closed eyelids. He leaned closer, longing to taste the lips beneath his, to find out if they were as cold as the hand wrapped around the bulge under his robes. "I promise."

It was Snape that finally closed the gap between them, lunging forward those few desperate centimeters until Harry felt the coolness of his lips, then the heat of his mouth, his tongue. He heard someone moan, but wasn't sure if it was him, Snape, or just the wind. The grip between his legs tightened until he thought he would surely burst with the overwhelming feelings that washed over him.

"Please," he whispered as Snape's lips traced a line down his jaw, his neck. Fingers fumbled with the clasp of his robes until Harry helped him take them off. "Please." Cold hands traced down his back, gentle as feathers of an ancient bird. "Please."

Snape smiled thinly and pulled Harry down on him. The last thing Harry remembered hearing before the time for thought and speech was over, was: "Potter....Not Lucius. Not Lucius..."


	5. The Aftermath

            Harry opened his eyes and experienced a brief moment of vertigo as he struggled to get his bearings. The curtains around the bed were not the well worn, heavy hangings that surrounded his four poster dorm bed, nor were the clean sheets the soft, familiar ones he was used to waking up beneath. On top of all that, the bed itself seemed thinner, smaller, slightly more crowded--

            That was it. Harry smiled lazily as he yawned and let his eyes droop closed. Beneath the covers he groped around until he found Snape's hand and laced his fingers between the colder, thinner ones.

            To awaken with a partner. Now there was something Harry hadn't experienced in a long time. Not since last summer, with that darling boy with the curly hair and blue, blue eyes-- Tate, that had been his name. Such a sweet young man, the one who had first led Harry to see what he was, what he wanted. They had spent so many wonderful nights together, away from everyone and everything. And while his companionship had been very, very welcome, it was the more subtle things that Harry was truly grateful for. Those precious few moments during which it had all gone away, so far that it seemed as if it was happening in another world, to another boy. It was for those rare moments in which Harry could forget about the Dursleys, forget about school, forget about his scar-- it was those moments for which Harry thanked him most.

            And yet it couldn't last. Of course it couldn't. Tate was a Muggle and didn't know about Harry and his second life. Harry made certain of that. At least that would be one reason he wouldn't lose the only companionship he'd ever had outside of Hogwarts. Even on the off chance Tate might have believed it, the last thing Harry wanted was to be idolized again, and more likely than not, Tate would have assumed Harry's story to be nothing more than a child's fantasy, though they both knew he was far from a child.

            Three days before Harry left for Hogwarts, Tate had disappeared with his family. The "For Sale" sign hung crooked and swinging from the door of their old house. Harry had passed by it one day as he walked around the neighborhood. He had taken to walking more and more frequently as the Dursleys became unbearable, and one day the sign was just there. Tate and his family were gone, as if though they had never been there at all. Belatedly, Harry realized that he had never even met his parents. He wondered if they knew what he did about Tate, that underneath that angelic complexion lay a man too wise for his years. He doubted that they did.

            There had been another after Tate, but that had come to nothing. He had been a seventh year on his way out of Hogwarts and into a promising career as a Quidditch player. He had known exactly what he had wanted and how to get it. Harry stopped where that was going even before it had started. Necking in the locker rooms, a brief caress and a murmured word or two, and that was all. Anything more would have turned into a travesty.

            And now there was Sev. Gently, Harry reached out with his free hand and brushed it against the side of Snape's face. The gaunt Potions Master stirred in his sleep, then his eyes fluttered open. He turned in the direction of Harry's hand and reached out, trying to contact something he knew to be real. For a moment, he seemed lost, a desperate man grasping at the last rope before he fell into the chasm, a rope hanging precariously out of reach. Then his fingers touched Harry's lips, felt the curves of his face and the despair fell from his eyes. Harry breathed in silent gratitude that the morning would not be a repeat of last night, but the relief was short lived.

            Snape's face was blank, cold as he clenched his fingers and drew his hand back. With quick, sharp movements he grabbed Harry by the wrist and flung his hand away as he sat up.

            "Get out," he hissed, as he stared blankly into the distance. "Go."

            Harry blinked and stammered, startled by this sudden and unexpected reaction. "But-- why? What happened? Last night--"

            "Last night should not have happened," Snape said, coldly. "There was too much going on, too many factors. Too much that went wrong. One of us was taken advantage of last night, and I still can't figure out which. Now get out."

            "But--" Harry continued to protest, searching for the right words that would make Snape change his mind, make him sense what he could not see. "Sev, please--"

            "Last night was a mistake."

            It was those cold words that made Harry stop dead. He stared at Snape, his mouth halfway open in shock. "You can't mean that," he whispered as he tried to calm his pounding heart. Except he knew--

            "I do. And don't tell me it meant anything to you. It was a moment of weakness, of lust. In any other circumstances, it would never have happened."

            "But it _did_," Harry pursued, knowing he was on the verge of pleading but could not bring himself to care. "We're not in any other circumstances, we're in these ones now. And it did happen. And it _did_ mean something--"

            "Get _out_," Snape roared, flinging the bedclothes wide. "I will not entertain your child's fantasy that last night was anything more than what it was, a moment of need, of pure, mechanical action. I needed you last night, and you, for whatever reason, needed me. Now we both got what we wanted, and there's nothing more to it than that."

            Harry stood still and trembling beside the bed, the floor cold on his bare feet as he stared in dumb surprise. "I--" His voice caught. Without another word, he grabbed his robes and threw them over his head and ran, not caring that the clasps were buckled wrong or that the fabric around the collar tore. All that mattered now was that he got out, out and away. Out and up, away and gone, up, up, up. He didn't stop, not even as he sobbed for air as the tears in his throat stole the breath from his body. He paid no attention to where he was going, although he thought he dimly recognized the way up to the Owlery. Several times he tripped and went flying, only to catch himself on his hands and find himself running again. By the time he collapsed in the corner of the Owlery, his hands were scraped raw.

            "Why?" he whispered brokenly into Hedwig's soft feathers as she swooped down to rest on his knee. "Why, Hedwig? What was that? I can't make sense of  it. _Why?_"

            Hedwig said nothing in reply, but simply butted Harry's chin with her snowy head and nipped him gently with her beak. Harry just sighed and slumped down lower against the wall, hoping that if nothing else, sheer physical exhaustion would take him over. He didn't have long to wait.

            "Harry? Harry? Harry, please wake up. Harry?"

            "Hmm?" Harry rolled over and opened his eyes to find Hermione's concerned face peering down at him. "Oh. Hrmony." He blinked a few times, then sat up and stretched. "What time is it?"

            "Supper just ended," she said. "How long have you been up here?"

            "All day," Harry said without thinking as he smoothed the front of his robes. He frowned as he noticed several tears in the fabric.

            "All day?" Hermione stared at Harry in disbelief. "What were you doing up here? Ron and I have been looking for you since this afternoon. Pomfrey said you left last night."

            "Snape--" Harry shook his head to clear his brain of sleep. "Snape had a nightmare last night. I had to-- I had to stay with him. To make sure he was okay."

            "So what are you doing up here, then?" Hermione offered her hand and hauled Harry to his feet.

            "I-- ouch!"

            "What?" Hermione dropped his hand and backed away. "What did I-- Harry!" She grabbed his wrist and turned his hand over before he could protest. Her eyes widened as she took in the raw scrapes on his palms. "What in the--"

            "I'm fine," Harry said as he snatched his hand back. "It's nothing. I fell."

            "No kidding." Hermione sent Harry a Look, but soon dropped it. "So Snape had a nightmare. What was it that sent you running up here?"

            Harry shrugged as he climbed to his feet. "I don't know. I was still half asleep. I didn't know what to do, and I couldn't find Madam Pomfrey. I must have just panicked and ran up here. I-- I don't really remember."

            "Uh huh." Hermione still looked doubtful, but held her tongue. "C'mon. I think Ron filched you something from the kitchens. If we get back soon, the greedy pig may still have left you some."

            Harry followed her down the stairs and up to Gryffindor Tower. His mind was full and his heart heavy as they sat by the fire with Ron, beside a heaping plate of stolen pastries. He barely touched the food.

            "Come on, Harry, _eat_ something." Ron pushed the plate towards him and sighed as Harry shook his head. "You've been up there all day. You've got to eat."

            Listlessly, Harry picked up a cheese and broccoli pasty and began to nibble at the edge. The crust was fresh and flaky, and the filling hot, but he had no appetite. After the first few bites stuck in his throat, he gave up the effort entirely.

            "What's bothering you, Harry?" Hermione had been silent up until now. "And don't tell me it's nothing. I know it isn't, so don't even try that on me. Something's up, and I want to know what."

            "Why?"

            "Because I'm your friend, dammit!"

            Harry and Ron stared at her in amazement. Hermione never, _ever_ swore. Even now, her face was rapidly becoming the color of Ron's hair as she held one hand over her mouth.

            "I didn't...I mean, I-- oh bloody _hell_." She frowned crossly and sat back with a huff. "Forget it. Just forget it." Hermione stared into the fire and frowned. "It's just that...well...never mind. Just-never mind."

            "Alright, Hermione, alright." Ron laid a hand on her arm as he soothed her ruffled temper. "Alright. Just let it go, yeah?"

            "But I don't see why _I_ should have to give explanations when _she--_"

            "Fine! Forget it all, then, just drop it! I don't care!" Harry was startled into silence as Hermione jumped to her feet and shouted at him, her hands stiff and balled at her sides. "I don't _care_!" She spun and ran from the room, her hair streaming out behind her. They could hear her sobs as she fled.

            Ron and Harry sat in stunned silence for moments after the portrait door slammed behind her. They could still hear her feet pounding down the stone steps as she ran.

            "Blimey," Ron said quietly. He and Harry shared a look of mixed surprise and a little shame. "What was that all about?"

            Harry shook his head. "You've got me. She's really pretty upset about something, though." He stared at the doorway Hermione ran out of just moments ago. "I should probably go after her."

            "Yeah." Ron clamored to his feet. "We'd better."

            Together, they climbed through the portrait door and headed down the stairs. "Which way?"

            "Err...left, I think, no wait-right!"

            "Make up your mind," Ron said rather crossly, as Harry looked back and forth between the two corridors. "For Merlin's sake, there's only two of 'em!"

            "That way!" Harry finally  cried, pointing to the left.

            "Why that way?"

            Harry shrugged. "Why not? It's as good a way as any."

            "True. Right, then, let's go find her."

            The two boys set off at a run down the hallway, eyes and ears kept sharp for any sign of Hermione.

            "Where could she've gone?" Ron grumbled as they ran past a row of armour. "She didn't have time to get far!"

            "Why the hell are you asking me?" Harry snapped back. "It's not like I can read her mind, or something." They rounded a corner, neither of them watching the space in front of them, and ran smack dab into Parvati and Padma. All four students went down in a jumble of arms, legs and robes.

            "Oi!" Parvati struggled to a sitting position, shoving Ron's leg off her stomach. "What's the deal?"

            "Mrph, gerroff me!" Ron's arm appeared from beneath the heap and waved about, pushing aside limbs and robes. Eventually, his head popped up as he fought to brace himself against the stone floor. "There!" His questing hands found the hard stone and he pushed himself to his feet.

            "Now," he said, as he brushed his robes off. "Watch yourselves!" he told the Patil girls. "Can't you see we're in a hurry?"

            "_What?_" Parvati screeched as her sister helped her to her feet. "You're the ones who need to watch where they're going! There are other people in this hallway, you know."

            "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Let's go, Harry." Ron started off back down the hallway. "Harry?" He paused, looked back over his shoulder. "Harr-oh..." His eyes widened as Padma dropped Harry's wrist.

            "I don't think Harry's really up to whatever it is you two were planning," Parvati said as her sister worried her lower lip with her teeth. "You'd best call Madam Pomfrey. Harry's out cold."

            "How is he, is going to be okay? What happened? Is he--"

            "He'll be fine, Mr. Weasley. Just a nasty bump on the head." Pomfrey stopped short, her hands taken up by a huge basin full of half full bottles that clanked together as she halted. "Mr. Weasley, if you would please move yourself to a location that was a little more out of the way…like out in the waiting room, perhaps?"

            "Uh, yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am." Ron ducked his head as he exited the ward, leaving Harry's unconscious form lying pale on the hospital bed. "Yeesh, what's gotten into her?" He frowned and took a seat on one of the chairs in the waiting room. "Grumpy as old Snape." Ron grew quiet as he thought about Snape. It was the first time in several months that the younger Weasley had given any thought to the decommissioned Potions Master, and longer still since those thoughts had been of anything save how he would look if his robes mysteriously caught fire. For once, he was surprised to find that he felt no malice towards the man who had once been the bane of his existence. Instead, there was nothing but a strange sort of pity, pity for a man who had been unloved before, and now had no one to mourn for his loss.

            "Ungg…" Harry opened his eyes slowly and shut them again immediately. When he felt that it was safe to try again, he cracked his lashes, and slowly pried the lids apart. Slivers of light shone through, blinding him like daggers of heaven and hell. He squinted, frowned, then braced himself and opened his eyes fully.

            The shock was not as bad as he had feared. Once the initial stinging receded, he blinked the grains of sleep from his eyes and breathed deeply as he took quick stock of himself. Fingers and toes still moved, joints seemed okay, eyes opened and closed. Bones still present. He was in better state than he usually was when he woke up in the Hospital Wing. Lungs worked, throat wasn't sore, head still turned-

            "Ah!" Harry winced as he tried to turn his head and was met by a searing pain across the back of his scalp. Grimacing, he reached up behind his head and carefully felt his skull.

            "Don't go doing that, now, Harry." Pomfrey bustled into the room, setting a stack of clean towels and liniment beside his bed. "Morning to you. I seem to be seeing you in here a little more often than I'd like. Here." She tossed a beribboned package on his lap. "A gift from Ron and Hermione."

            Still wincing at the pain in his head, Harry tore off the ribbon and opened the package. Chocolate Frogs. He grinned as he munched, flipping through the Wizard Cards. As he did, a small card fell from the wrapping. "Wha-?"

            It was a note, crammed with both Ron's messy scrawl and Hermione's scribe-neat script.

            _Harry_, it read. _Hope you're doing okay. How's the head? Blimey, you were out cold. Thought for a bit that we'd lost you for good, but I knew you'd pull through in the end, just like you alw-_

            Ron's hand ended in a blot of ink, and Hermione's familiar writing took over.

            _Don't mind him, Harry. The daft thing was in hysterics. Thought for a minute he was going to burst into tears. Ah, well. Enjoy your Frogs. I had to have Crookshanks threaten Ron before he'd part with them._

_            Oh yeah, the other thing I wanted to tell you. All is forgiven. Hope to see you soon,_

_            Ron and Hermione_

            Harry grinned as he popped the rest of the chocolate into his mouth. So Ron had found Hermione after all. She mustn't have been far. Her mood seemed to have improved radically, as well. All for the better. He tucked that particular piece of information in the back of his mind for future use: next time Hermione got mad, all it took was a minor head wound for all to be well again.

            "So what happened, anyway?" he asked Pomfrey as she fussed about beside his bed.

            She snorted. "The usual nonsense," she said as she fluffed the tall stack of pillows behind Harry's head. "Running through Hogwarts, someone's bound to get hurt. Should have known it would be you and that Weasley boy."

            Harry sat straighter. "Ron's alright, isn't he?"

            "Yes, yes." Pomfrey frowned and pushed Harry back down onto the bed. "That lad's fine. Even if he did fall as hard as you did, that skull of his is thick enough to keep his brains alright. Not that you'd think he had any, sometimes, what with all the crazy things he pulls." She sighed and shook her head in mock despair. "He's a Weasley through and through, that one."

            Harry grinned as he lay back among the pillows. So Ron was alright, Hermione had forgiven him. Things were right with the world again, what else could he want? There was nothing-

            Oh wait. That was it.

            Harry swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, but it wouldn't go away. For one desperate moment, he feared he would choke on it.

            _Snape_.

            "Snape," he whispered, biting down hard on his lower lip to keep from crying out loud from the sudden pain in his chest.

            "What was that, Harry?" Pomfrey didn't even look up as she folded mountains of white, fluffy towels.

            "Ehr," Harry floundered for a moment as he struggled to hold his thoughts together. "How-how's Professor Snape?"

            _Now_ Pomfrey put her work down and turned to look at him. Her gaze was sharp, but not without a certain softness to it. "He's-better," she said carefully.

            "I-I keep having nightmares," Harry said quietly, fixing his eyes on a spot beyond and slightly to the left of Pomfrey's head. "They're all about Snape. I keep seeing that skull, and seeing Snape in the woods. When we found him, he was almost dead, I thought he was-" He broke off. He hadn't realized it before, but it was true. Almost every night since he had been with McGonagall when Snape had been returned, the nightmare had plagued his sleep. It was always Snape. Snape lying as if dead beside the oak tree, bound and bruised. The colours that had mottled his gaunt face, the pain that twisted his features until he looked like something out of a child's horror book. That empty, hollow look in his eyes. The eyes of a man already dead.

            "Oh, Harry." Pomfrey put down the towel that was in her hands and sat on the edge of the hospital bed. "You saw something that no one should ever have to." Her voice was tight, and Harry thought for a moment he saw her lip tremble. "I wish I could take that from you. I would in an instant, if I could." She sighed and rested her hand on Harry's shoulder. "How long have these nightmares been occurring?"

            "Long enough," Harry said, suddenly feeling the weight of his own grief. "Since we found him."

            Pomfrey nodded. "I can give you something, if you'd like," she offered, gently. "Something to help you sleep. It might keep the dreams away--"

            But Harry was shaking his head. "No," he said hoarsely. "No potions. No medicines."

            "Have you thought about talking to Dumbledore?"

             Harry shook his head again. Maybe soon, if the nightmares didn't go away. But not now, not yet. Right then, all he wanted was-

            "Can you ask Ron and Hermione to come in?" he asked. It was Saturday, he knew that with no classes today, his friends would be waiting out in the foyer. "I-I think I'd like to see them."

            "Of course." Pomfrey smiled at him, but her eyes weren't in it. Neither, Harry knew, was her heart. "They've been waiting."

            Harry fell back among the pillows as Pomfrey left.  His head felt too heavy to hold up, his eyelids were made of lead. All of a sudden, he felt tired, so very, very tired.

            "Harry?" Hermione poked her head around the corner, her brown eyes wide with worry. "Alright, Harry?"

            "Hello, Hermione." He smiled, and it felt fake, even to him. He wanted to wave, but couldn't make the effort. "Hey, Ron." Ron grinned as he rounded the corner behind Hermione.

            "Welcome back to the land of the living!" he said as he bounded over to the edge of Harry's bed. "You've been out for almost an entire day."

            "Really?" Harry's eyes narrowed, then widened. "You can't be serious…" His voice trailed off as he looked out the window. Only then did he realize that the sun was disappearing behind Hogsmede, setting the lake on fire. Harry stared into the brilliant liquid flames, taking what small comfort he could in the warm colors. Colors that beat back the cold, shimmering greens of his dreams and waking nightmares, if only for a moment.

            "Ron," he said, slowly, "Hermione?" He bit his lip, suddenly uncertain. Hermione put her hand over his. He sighed, looked down at the bedspread. "I guess you've figured out that something's up by now, huh." It wasn't a question, and they all three knew it.

            "You know we're here if you want to talk," Hermione said, her eyes dark. She elbowed Ron in the ribs.

            "Ow! Err—yeah, Harry, we're always around to listen." Ron rubbed his side and scowled, but Harry heard the sincerity in both their voices. He grinned half heartedly.

            "I know it." _And wish I could take you both up on the offer_, he thought to himself. "I guess it's time to come clean." _Liar_. "Things really aren't alright. I've—I've not been myself recently." He paused. Hermione smiled at him, encouraging him to go on. "It's because of Snape."

            Ron frowned. "Gee, Harry. I know it's got everyone down and all, what with You-Know-Who returning and all that, but why--?"

            "I was there when he was found," Harry said shortly. He heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath and plowed on. "That night when I said I had a headache. I lied when I said it wasn't my scar. It was. It got so bad I couldn't sleep, so I went outside. I thought maybe if I walked around a bit, it would go away."

            "But it didn't, did it," Hermione said. Harry shook his head.

            "It just got worse. Then I ran into Professor McGongall. I don't remember what we were saying, but—Ron, do you remember that night at the Quidditch World Cup?"

            "Yeah, but what does that have to do with any--"

            "_Morsmordre_," Harry said tonelessly. He felt Hermione's hand clench over his as the blood drained from her face. Madame Pomfrey, who had just walked in with an armful of jars gasped and dropped her burden with an smash that should have woken Hogwarts. Even Ron looked shaken.

            "Come on, now, Harry," he said with a forced little laugh. "What's this? You can't just go around saying that when and wherever, you know. Remember what Dad said? About how folks react to that? You saw it yourself at the World Cup!"

            Harry nodded grimly. "I know. And now I know why." He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes sparking with intensity. "Your dad was right, Ron. Nothing but fear and death. That's all they leave behind. What we saw at the World Cup was nothing. At least there, nobody got hurt." He shuddered suddenly, and looked away. "Snape—I didn't even recognized him. His eyes were so dead…" He shook his head and leaned back again.

            Hermione squeezed his hand tight in hers. "Harry," she said, her voice full of tears. "Harry, we never knew! Why didn't you tell us? Oh God, it must have been awful! Why didn't you let us know, Harry? We could have--"

            "What? You could have what?" Harry closed his eyes tightly as he scowled. "You wouldn't have been able to do anything. You weren't there, you don't know how it felt. You don't understand the fear of knowing that something powerful's out there, and it's after you. And when it can't get to you, it'll take anything else it can get its hands on." _Stop it!_ he screamed at himself. _What do you think you're doing? They did the best they could, it's not their fault!_ Despite his own thoughts, Harry could not stop his tongue. "You don't know what it's like to have everyone looking to you for an answer, when all you want is to curl up and hide. You don't understand." The hurt he had felt from Snape's rejection welled up inside of him like a wound, and he wanted—no, _needed_—to pass that hurt along to someone else. For an instant, he forgot that these people were his friends, that they had stood by him during some of the most difficult times in his life. He forgot that they had never deserted him, not once, though because of him they had been hurt and almost killed. For that one instant, they were nothing but targets for the hurt and pain that had been dealt to him.

            And then that instant passed. 

            The Hospital Wing was filled with an empty silence, though how that could be, Harry wasn't sure. All he was aware of was Poppy gaping at him, open mouthed as if though she couldn't believe she was hearing the words he was speaking. Hermione had turned white as the bed sheets, her lips compressed into a thin line. Ron looked as if though he couldn't decide whether or not to comfort Hermione or beat the living daylights out of Harry. Harry couldn't blame him.

            "I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to bring himself to look either of them in the eye. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

            "It's okay," Hermione said quickly. She looked to Ron, unsure of what to do. "Do you—are you—"

            "I think it's best if you just go," Harry said. "Please," he said as Hermione opened her mouth to protest. "Please, just go."

            He kept his eyes glued to the bed sheets until he heard their footsteps receded. Then he sighed and fell back again, pressing the base of his hands into his eyes.

            "Well _that_ was quite the speech, if I may say."

            Startled, Harry's eyes flew open. "Wha—" he said as he sat up. Madame Pomfrey was picking up shards of potion soaked glass from the floor. She continued talking as if she hadn't even heard him.

            "Not that I blame you for the things you said. I agree with you for the most part. I think it's high time Albus stopped looking to others to carry the everyone's weight, and started actually _thinking_ about what he's doing! First Severus— and look how _he_ ended up!— now you. And he's about to send you right down that same path. He just doesn't see it. For such an intelligent man, Albus can be extremely short sighted, sometimes."

            "Er…"

            "But honestly, Harry! Tearing into your friends like that when all they were looking to do was help! Then again, I guess that's to be expected, too. We're wearing you too thin, boy, I bet your nerves are fair frayed by now. I used to see it in Severus, too, back when this first started. He'd even be snapping at Albus, then apologizing in the next breath. Dear Merlin, when will that man _learn?_" Shaking her head, Pomfrey finished picking up the glass shards and floated them into the waste basket. The puddles of liquid she mopped up with a quick spell. "But enough with that. Harry, if you need me, I'll be right around the corner. Don't hesitate to call if you need something, or if the nightmares start again, alright?" And then she was gone.

            Harry blinked. "She sure can talk," he said to himself, quietly, so that she wouldn't hear. But then again, maybe she was right. Maybe it was just the stress, the strain on his nerves that was doing this to him. Between finding Snape in such a state and knowing that Voldemort was after him, too…it was just too much, sometimes. But still, that was no excuse.

            "Graah!" He turned over and buried his face into his pillow, wishing everything would just disappear. He wished it would all just work out without him, that all these issues would just smooth themselves out on their own. Between Ron and Hermione, his family back on four Privet Drive, Snape—

            Snape.

            Harry groaned into the pillow, slammed into it with his fist. Snape. That was a disaster if he'd ever lived through one. The only difference was, he wasn't sure if he wanted to. Live through it.

            "Bastard," he whispered fiercely into the dark. "Stupid, buggering _git_." He tried to stop the tears that stung his eyes, but they fell without his consent, soaking the pillow with salt. "Spiteful bastard." For several long minutes, Harry vented his hatred into the hapless pillow.

            At length, he finally ran out of words from both head and heart. He lay, utterly spent, clutching his pillow as if its white softness could somehow hold him down to a reality he really wasn't sure if he wanted to face. Hundreds of thoughts raced through his mind, half formed plans for revenge, wild ideas of desperate measures. Because he knew he had to deal with the issue before it devoured him alive. It was Snape, not Voldemort, not his friends, not even the Dark Mark that lay hidden in the back of his dreams. It was Snape that was causing him to act as he was, snappish towards even those closest to him, the few he called friend without compunction.

            And it had to be dealt with. Harry knew he couldn't let things continue down the track they were set on. To do so would only lead to more hurt and anger. He couldn't let that happen. Not to himself, and not to his friends.

            Cursing Snape in every way he knew, Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and quietly slid off. The stone floor was cold beneath his feet, but he didn't bother to go looking for slippers. He never really minded the cold much.

            He found himself breathing shallowly as he walked and was surprised to find his palms slick with sweat. _Don't think about it_, he told himself. _Just go in there and start talking. You'll figure out what to do_. Were it ever that easy!

            Harry padded softly into the room where Snape lay, propped up on a pile of pillows. The curtains around the bed were drawn, but he could still see through a space in the middle. Snape's eyes were closed, but Harry doubted if the Potions Master was sleeping. The atmosphere in the room was simply not peaceful enough for sleep.

            Sure enough, as soon as he made the slightest noise, scuffing his foot against the stone floor, Snape's eyes snapped open, although it made no real difference. And yet, for a brief moment, Harry forgot that Snape was blind.

            "Who's there?" Snape called into the ill lit room. "Poppy, is that you?" Harry was startled at the lack of bite that was usually present in Snape's voice. "Poppy?"

            "Um, nossir." Harry clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. "It's Harry Potter." His whole body was shaking now, as he crept closer to the bed.

            "Pott—" Without warning, Snape's face twisted into a mask of rage and anger. "I told you once, Potter, and now you make me repeat myself. _Get out!_"

            "No, sir." By now, even his voice was shaking. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he had the strength to stay. Snape's shouts rang in his ears, but he tried desperately to shut them out.

            "What?" Snape's voice had undergone that change Harry knew all too well. From the ear splitting shout to the soft, silky tones that were ten times as dangerous. "What did you just say to me, Potter?"

            "I said I won't." Harry firmed his resolve and stepped closed. "I have some things I need to say to you, and I mean to."

            "Why you stupid, insolent boy." Harry could sense the heat of Snape's words, feel them like the stinging of a lash. "What makes you think you can just walk in here and start making demands? Things to say to me? What makes you think I care what you have to say? What makes you think it would make the slightest bit of difference?"

            "Still." Harry stood his ground. "I'm not leaving until I've said my piece."

            Suddenly Snape was upon him, his hand following the sound of Harry's voice until it reached the collar of his robes.

            "_Fool!_" he roared into his face. "Get out of here, _now!_ You have no idea what you're doing, you stupid boy! Get out!"

            "What in the name of Merlin is going on here?"

            Snape and Harry froze in a violent tableau as Pomfrey's voice cut into the commotion. Snape released his grip on Harry's collar and spoke without turning. "Leave us, Poppy. Potter and I have something to discuss that no other should hear." Pomfrey didn't move. "Please, Poppy. I swear to you, nothing will happen. But we do need to talk, and we need to do it now." Snape's voice was carefully polite, but Harry could hear the steel behind the façade. "Please."

            "Fine." Pomfrey relented. "But you keep a civil tongue, both of you. And don't be waking up the rest of the school with your shouting. What needs to be said can be said quietly."

            "Of course." Snape waited until he heard the door to the room close behind her as she left. Harry held his breath, waiting to see what would happen. Despite Snape's promises, he still felt uneasy.

            "Because of my promise to Madame Pomfrey and the fact that you are a student of Hogwarts and therefore deserving of some respect," Snape told him tonelessly, "I will refrain from verbally tearing you apart and feeding what remains of you to whatever happens to be in Hagrid's backyard. But be warned, boy, say your piece and get out, lest I forget my word to Poppy."

            Harry swallowed. Snape's words had sent chills down his back, but at least this was more like the caustic Potions Master he knew before. That familiarity lent him some small bit of courage, enough to force the words out between his chattering teeth.

            "It's about…what happened. Last night."

            "Last night?" Snape's expression didn't change. "Was it only last night? It seems so much longer. Time has no meaning to one who can't see the passing of day and night."

            "What you said to me," Harry went on, knowing that if he allowed himself to be distracted by Snape's words he would never find the courage to start again. "When you told me to get out. That—that it didn't mean anything."

            "Yes. What of it?"

            "It hurt," Harry said softly. "What you said to me. When you said it was just sex, it didn't mean anything. That it shouldn't have happened." The words that he had been longing to say since the event came spilling out all at once. There was no time to think, for tact. Only expression. "You said it was a moment of weakness. That if you had been thinking it never would have happened." Hot tears stung his eyes and cheeks, but he didn't even pause to wipe them away. "Did you ever stop to think for one moment that maybe it was something else? That maybe it meant something to _me?_ And then you go and tell me that if you had been thinking, it never would have happened? Did you even stop to _think_? Just _once_, maybe? Did it ever occur to you that I would _never_ take advantage of someone, and that I _wouldn't make mistakes like that?_ And because of that it might be that _maybe_ what happened last night _meant_ something to me? Did you ever—"

            "I'm sorry."

            "Even consider the fact that—" Harry cut off abruptly in mid sentance. "What?"

            "I said I'm sorry." Snape scowled. "Maybe if you weren't so engrossed in your own words, Mr. Potter, you would hear those of others." His features softened minutely. "I'm sorry for what I said that night." His next words were obviously difficult. "Would you be so kind as to allow me the opportunity to explain myself, and perhaps offer a reason for my behavior?"

            Dumbfounded at Snape's unexpected apology, Harry simply nodded.

            Snape sighed. "When you came to me that night,  I was surprised. To say the least. I had never once suspected that you were—but that is for later. You possess a very strange quality, Mr. Potter, in that you have the uncanny ability to unseat someone totally and completely. You can startle anyone you choose, without even trying. While that is a very useful talent, it is going to get you in trouble one day soon, if you don't learn to control it."

            "But what does this—"

            Snape raised his hand, effectively cutting off Harry's next words. "Patience is yet another virtue I see you have yet to master," he said acidly. Harry shut his mouth abruptly.

            "You surprised me to the extent that I didn't even think to protest. That's not to say…" he trailed off, coughed once. "That's not to say I was not willing. However, if I had been thinking straight, for just one instant, then I would have stopped before anything even started." He stopped, seemed to gather himself together again. Harry could tell that his next words were chosen with impeccable care. "You see what I have become, Mr. Potter. You've seen what Voldemort can do, what he and his followers are capable of. You have _been_ there. You've experienced it yourself. You _know_."

            "Yes, and what of it?" Harry was on the verge of strangling the Professor if he didn't hurry up and make his point.

            "_Dammit, boy!_" Snape's words exploded with rage as he sat forward. "_Look at me! _Look at what they've done to me! I will be damned a hundred times before I let someone get close to me only to have the same done to them! Or worse! Can't you recognize protection when someone's trying to give it to you?" As if though exhausted by the violent flow of words, Snape slumped heavily, his breath gathered in a sigh.

            Harry sat in stunned silence. Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind, but he was unable to catch any of them long enough to make sense of them. Snape's words echoed in his ears, adding the confusion. Protection? From Voldemort? Snape was trying to _protect_ him?

            "I thought that if I caught _you_ by surprise for once, angered you enough, hurt you, then you're just leave and never want to see me again. I figured that since I couldn't stop it from happening last night, I could at least make sure it never happened again. But I forgot that you were the most stubborn, thick skulled dimwit I've ever had the misfortune to meet. You couldn't just let well enough alone, could you?"

            "Nope." Harry shook his head, grinning openly for he knew Snape could not see it.

            Snape sighed in mock annoyance. Or maybe it was real, Harry couldn't tell. Nor did he, at that moment, particularly care. "I knew you were trouble the minute you walked through the door that first day. If only I knew how_ much_ trouble, and I would have packed up and left right then and there."

            "So, Professor…does this mean that you—that what you said this morning doesn't—you were just saying that? To keep me away because you wanted to protect me?"

            "Didn't I make that clear enough already, Potter?"

            "So…does this mean that…what happened this morning...does that mean you don't really want me to go?"

            Silence. Harry's stomach churned in nervous anticipation of Snape's next words.

            "That's a difficult question to answer, Mr. Potter." More silence. Then: "It depends. I do want you to go, yes. But not for the reasons you were thinking. I don't ever want to be responsible for another's pain and death again, not now, not ever. No one's, do you understand me? I spent too much time as an instrument of pain and suffering in Voldemort's hands. I don't want anyone, not a student or teacher of Hogwarts or anyone else, to ever be at risk because of me."

            Harry opened his mouth to speak, but found no words to say. Instead, he crossed the few feet that separated the two of them and took up Snape's hand in his own. "Then tell me I can stay."

            Angrily, Snape tried to extract his hand from Harry's grip. "Did you hear even a single word that I just said, Potter? I will _not_ put anyone at risk. Did you not understand? I want you gone, boy. I'll not have you getting killed because of me."

            Harry tightened both his grip and his resolve. Having found out that Snape did not send him away for the reasons he had believed only made him more determined than ever to stay. "I've faced Voldemort," he said softly. "You said so yourself. I know what they're capable of. I've seen the things they can do, I've been there myself. _You said so_. So you know. You know that I'm capable of handling myself." His voice started to shake as he struggled to keep himself under control. "I may not want to," he said, "and I may still be afraid of it, and of him. Who wouldn't be? But…but I would. I'd face Voldemort again if I had to, I probably will whether I want to or not. And…and I'd rather face him with you with me than anyone else."

             Having said his piece, Harry stood in silence, still holding onto Snape's hand. He held his breath as well, knowing that whatever Snape said in response to his little speech, he would have to accept unconditionally. He could do no less for a man he respected.

            "You're certain of this?"

            Harry nodded grimly.

            "There's nothing I can do to dissuade you of your foolish decision?"

            "Nothing."

            Snape inhaled deeply, waiting several moments before letting out a huge sigh. "Stubborn fool," he muttered. "So be it."

            Harry blinked. "W—what?"

            "Oh for Merlin's sake, boy! I'm blind, are you now deaf?" The Potions Master scowled for a moment, but worry soon softened his features. "You know what you're getting into? This isn't a game, Potter. This is going to be like nothing else you've ever encountered. I ask you one more time. You can still back out of this if you wish. Are you certain?"

            Instead of responding, Harry leaned down before he could think himself out of it and kissed Snape fully on the lips. When he finally straightened, he squeezed his hand tightly.

            "Good enough."

            Harry felt as if though someone had come and taken the scar right from his forehead. For the first time in weeks, he found that he could breathe easy.

            "Now that that's settled," Snape said, pulling Harry down to sit beside him on the bed, "I'd like to ask you something." Harry waited. "Why—why me?"

            Now that was the _last_ question Harry expected. And yet, he really shouldn't have been surprised. It was the most logical, after all. A week ago, Harry wouldn't have known the reason himself, but now, having had the time to think, he was fairly certain he knew how to answer.

            "I—wasn't really sure, at first," he admitted. "But, when I woke up this morning, and you were there beside me, I thought a lot about…relationships that I'd had in the past." Tate, the Quidditch player. He told Sev about them both, how he felt about each of them and how they had felt about him. "It finally came together. Tate loved me because I was _me_, not because I was the Boy-Who-Lived. He didn't even know who Voldemort was, for Merlin's sake! He didn't know about this scar, about what it meant. He saw me as Harry Potter, boy next door. Not as the potential savior of all wizard kind! And…he let me forget, sometimes, about what I was to everyone here. He let me just be me, and I loved him for that, and so much more." Tears threatened to take over his words, but he choked them back. "When he left, I felt as if I had lost something I'd never get back. I knew that I'd never find anyone here like that, no student, at least. None of them see me, all they see is the scar. Even Ron and Hermione. Ron's still jealous, even though he won't admit it, and Hermione's frightened. She doesn't tell me, but I can see it. She's frightened at what I can do, at the things that happen to me.

            "But there are others, worse than that. The Quidditch player. It was as if he didn't care about _me_ at all. Just this," Harry's hand reached up to trace his scar. "I was just another accomplishment of his, another trophy in his case beside the Quidditch Cup." He shivered slightly, at the memories. "People want to use me, or they want me to be something for them that I just don't know if I can be. You were never like that. You were never afraid of me, you did what you could to haul me off the pedestal the rest of the world had put me onto and push me into the dirt. But in the light of everything else you did, that was nothing.

            "I figured it out last night, Sev. I don't know why it took me so long, but I guess it was just because I didn't recognize it for what it was." Harry took a deep breath, surprised to find that although he hadn't planned this speech, the words came as easily as if though he had. "I can't love anyone who doesn't love me as a person. And I can't love anyone who sees themselves as inferior. It frightens me to have this power over people because of something I don't even remember. And I can't love someone in the face of that fear. Not wholly. Not completely."

            "So I'm the only one who met your standards, is that it?" Snape's voice was carefully probing, soft, without the intent to hurt, yet unwilling open himself to more pain. "I'm here for lack of a better man, like this Tate of yours."

            "No!" Harry bit his lip as he searched for the right words. "It's not that. It's not all that. I mean, that _is_ a part of it, yes, but there's more to it. I respect you, Professor. And…and…oh I don't_ know_!" he cried, his voice breaking with frustration. "I can't explain it. I just…I just know I want to be with you, dammit!" Tears formed and spilled from his eyes, darkening the bed sheets. "Why can't you accept that?" The weight of the strain and stress he had been carrying ever since Cedric's death finally came crashing down on him. He wasn't anyone's savior, not Ron's, not Hermione's, and certainly not Cedric's. Cedric had died because he hadn't been good enough to stop Voldemort. They wanted him to save the entire wizarding world when he couldn't even save the life of one boy. He didn't know how to handle any of this. All he knew was that there was no one he could talk to, no one who would understand. That knowledge made him feel terribly alone, and he was so tired of being alone… 

            Snape didn't say anything for a moment, listening to Harry sob. He made no move to comfort him, and as Harry's grief finally lessened, his next words were devoid of warmth.

            "Because I've heard those words before, Potter." His voice was empty, toneless as if though he were speaking of another man entirely. "You're not the first one to speak those words to me. Respect, love. One man already tried that one me and I bought it, hook, line and sinker. I won't have you doing that to me, Potter, I swore I'd never let anyone do that to me again. Betrayal is the most bitter of all potions, and I for one refuse to swallow it again."

            "Lucius," Harry managed from behind his tears. "You mean Lucius."

            "Who I mean is irrelevant to this conversation, Mr. Potter. I will thank you kindly for remembering that. What I need to know is: are you willing to get yourself involved in everything that comes your way with this? I don't think you quite understand everything, so I'm going to explain it, in very simple terms. I don't hold you on a pedestal, no. And I will not treat you with the deference that others do. I respect you only so far as I see that you deserve it, and respect is earned through your conscious actions, not because of who or what you are. I cannot give you the relationship you had with this Tate. You will find the road before you hard and unforgiving. There are times when you must deal with the hurt and anger that I might unknowingly create. I am not the easiest of people to get along with, as you may be well aware of, and I can't and won't coddle you the way others do. I'm not good at reading people, and I'm very poor at dealing with others' emotions."

            Harry nodded and reached up to wipe away the tears that still dripped from his eyes. "If I didn't know any better," he hiccupped, with a shaky, false smile, "I'd say you were trying to drive me away."

            Snape grabbed him by the shoulder and held tight. "Never," he said vehemently. His eyes stared ahead into the nothingness, but Harry was sure Snape could see his every move. "Never. Merlin knows I would never do that. And may he damn me for it, for pulling you into danger like this, but I want you with me, Harry. I just want to be _certain _that you know exactly what you're getting yourself into. I don't want you finding out months from now that you can't handle it, and leaving me with hate in your heart."

            "But why?" Harry had his tears under control now. "Why? I've always thought you hated me, that you wanted me to fail—"

            "Is that why you came to me, then?" Snape's voice was, for once, devoid of accusation. "Because you knew I'd turn you away?"

            "No…" Harry spoke slowly, turning his thoughts over in his mind. "No," he said finally. "I thought at first it was on a whim, then I began to think it was instinctual. That I knew you wouldn't turn me away. Then I realized; all this time, all the insults and unfairness and detentions. You were teaching me something, weren't you?"

            Snape nodded. "I hated your father, and you because of him," he said. "I made no secret of that. But I realized that Albus and the rest of them were right. What happened with Quirrel before the Mirror confirmed it. You may not be the only hope this world has of defeating Voldemort, but you are by far the best. But there are other things you must learn in this world. Not everyone plays fair. Best that you learn about treachery and backstabbing here at school, so that it wouldn't take you by surprise out in the real world. But despite my best efforts, you never let it get you down. You proved to be amazingly resilient, tougher than I expected. I grew to respect you, grudgingly at first, but eventually  I came to acknowledge what others already knew." He reached out gently and felt the lines of Harry's face, brushed a lock of unruly hair from his eyes. "You're an amazing boy, Potter. More so every day. And one must either envy that, or respect it. I chose to do the latter."

            "Sev…" Harry stopped. He couldn't say a word. He could only sit there, Sev's hand on his face, the only sight he had, now.

            "There's just one last thing I want to know," Snape said suddenly. For the life of him, Harry couldn't not imagine what that thing was. What was there that hadn't already been said by now?

            "How did you know that I was—that I wouldn't turn you away for reasons that had nothing to do with hatred or any of that."

            "Oh." Harry blushed, certain that Snape could feel the heat beneath his fingers. "I was staying after class one day. Detention. I saw a piece of parchment on your desk…I couldn't resist. It was a note to you from Lucius…" He trailed off, his blush intensifying. "It was old, but the meaning was obvious."

            "I see." Snape finally seemed to relax, the tension draining visibly from his frame. "Well. Now I have found the answers to everything I set out to." He brushed his fingertips over Harry's eyelids. "Anything to say?"

            "No—nossir." Harry smiled tremulously. "I can't think of anything else to say…"

            "Oh, I think you'll find something," Sev said, his voice once again its familiar, mocking self. "You usually do. And Potter?"

            "Yessir?"

            "If you ever go snooping through my personal articles again, I'll see to it personally that you are turned into a newt."

            "That's okay," Harry said as he curled up on the bed beside Snape. "I'll get better."

            **Author's Note: Thought it may seem over, this story has a long way to go, yet! This isn't over until I write the words "The End" at the bottom! Keep checking for further updates!


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